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G.     W.     DILLINGHAM     COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS  NEW    YORK 


THE    RED    WINDOW 


"TUKUE   HE  SAW    IllS   (;  l{.\  Mil  A  111  Kit    SKATKP    BV  Tllf.   Ulii:  WITH    A 
HAMJKKmillKK   HOlM)   HIS  -NECK." 


iFi-ontispiece.) 


Page  63. 


THE 

RED     WINDOW 


BY 

FERGUS    HUME 

AUTHOR    OF 

"the    mystery    or    a    hansom    cab,"    "the   rainbow    feather," 

"a    coin    of    EDWARD    VII,"     *' THE    PAGAn's    CUP,"     "  CLAUDE 
DUVAL    OF    NINETY-FIVE,"    ETC,    ETC. 


With  Frontispiece 


G.  W.    DILLINGHAM    COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW    YORK 


Copyright,  1904,  by 
G.  W.   DILLINGHAM   COMPANY 


BNTERED  AT  STATIONERS*   HALL 


The  Red  Window  Issued  May,  igo4 


?§^y 


CONTENTS 

H?U/i^ 

CHAP. 
I. 

Comrades 

PACK 

9 

II. 

Sir  Simon  Gore 

' 

23 

III. 

The  Will    .... 

1 

38 

IV. 

A  Strange  Adventure  . 

SO 

V. 

Lost  in  the  Darkness  . 

64 

VI. 

A  Maiden  Gentlewoman      . 

77 

VII. 

Bernard's  Friends 

90 

VIII. 

Bernard's  Enemies 

103 

IX. 

At  Cove  Castle  . 

115 

X. 

A  Statement  of  the  Case 

129 

XI. 

Mrs.  Gilroy's  Past      . 

142 

XII. 

The  New  Page  . 

15s 

XIII. 

A  Consultation  . 

170 

XIV. 

Love  in  Exile     . 

183 

XV. 

The  Past  of  Alice 

195 

XVI. 

The  Unexpected 

208 

XVII. 

The  Diary 

221 

XVIII. 

Tolomeo's  Story 

232 

XIX. 

Plots  and  Counterplots 

245 

XX. 

A  Confession 

259 

XXI. 

Young  Judas 

276 

XXII. 

The  Truth 

291 

XXIII. 

A  Year  Later     . 

309 

2229159 


The   Red  Window 


CHAPTER   I 

COMRADES 

"  Hullo,  Gore !  " 

The  young  soldier  stopped,  started,  colored  with  an- 
noyance, and  with  a  surprised  expression  turned  to 
look  on  the  other  soldier  who  had  addressed  him.  After 
a  moment's  scrutiny  of  the  stranger's  genial  smile  he 
extended  his  hand  with  pleased  recognition.  "  Con- 
niston,"  said  he,  "  I  thought  you  were  in  America." 

"  So  I  am;  so  don't  call  me  Conniston  at  the  pitch 
of  your  voice,  old  boy.  His  lordship  of  that  name  is 
camping  on  Californian  slopes  for  a  big  game  shoot. 
The  warrior  who  stands  before  you  is  Dick  West  of 

the  Lancers,  the  old  Come-to-the-Fronts.     And 

what  are  you  doing  as  an  Imperial  Yeoman,  Gore  ?  " 

"  Not  that  name,"  said  the  other,  with  an  anxious 
glance  around.  "  Like  yourself,  I  don't  want  to  be 
known." 

''  Oh !     So  you  are  sailing  under  false  colors  also  ?  " 

"  Against  my  will,  Conniston — I  mean  West.  I  am 
Corporal  Bernard." 

"  Hum !  "  said  Lord  Conniston,  with  an  approving 
nod.    "  You  have  kept  your  Christian  name,  I  see." 

"  It  is  all  that  remains  of  my  old  life,"  replied  Gore, 
bitterly.    "  But  your  title,  Conniston?  " 


10  The  Red  Window 

"  Has  disappeared,"  said  the  lancer,  good-humoredlj, 
"  until  I  can  make  enough  money  to  gild  it." 

"  Do  you  hope  to  do  that  on  a  private's  pay  ?  " 

West  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  I  hope  to  fight  my 
way  during  the  war  to  a  general's  rank.  With  that 
and  a  V.C.,  an  old  castle  and  an  older  title,  I  may  catch 
a  dollar  heiress  by  the  time  the  Boers  give  in." 

"  You  don't  put  in  your  good  looks,  Conniston,"  said 
Bernard,  smiling. 

"  Dollar  heiresses  don't  buy  what's  in  the  shop-win- 
dows, old  man.  But  won't  you  explain  your  uniform 
and  dismal  looks  ?  " 

Gore  laughed.  "  My  dismal  looks  have  passed  away 
since  we  have  met  so  ojiportunely,"  he  said,  looking 
across  the  grass.  "  Come  and  sit  down.  We  have 
much  to  say  to  one  another." 

Conniston  and  Gore — they  used  the  old  names  in 
preference  to  the  new — walked  across  the  grass  to  an 
isolated  seat  under  a  leafless  elm.  The  two  old  friends 
had  met  near  the  magazine  in  Hyde  Park,  on  the  bor- 
ders of  the  Serpentine,  and  the  meeting  was  as  unex- 
pected as  pleasant.  It  was  a  gray,  damp  October  day, 
and  the  trees  were  raining  yellow,  brown  and  red  leaves 
on  the  sodden  ground.  Yet  a  breath  of  smnmer  lin- 
gered in  the  atmosphere,  and  there  was  a  warmth  in 
the  air  which  had  lured  many  people  to  the  Park. 
Winter  was  coming  fast,  and  the  place,  untidy  with 
\\dthered  leaves,  bare  of  flowers,  and  dismal  under  a 
sombre,  windy  sky,  looked  imattractive  enough.  But 
the  two  did  not  mind  the  dreary  day.  Summer — the 
smnmer  of  youth — was  in  their  hearts,  and,  recalling 
their  old  school  friendship,  they  smiled  on  one  another 
as  they  sat  down.    In  the  distance  a  few  children  were 


Comrades  11 


playing,  their  nursemaids  comparing  notes  or  chatting 
with  friends  or  stray  policemen,  so  there  was  no  one 
near  to  overhear  what  they  had  to  say.  A  number  of 
fashionable  carriages  rolled  along  the  road,  and  occa- 
sionally someone  they  knew  would  pass.  But  vehicles 
and  people  belonged  to  the  old  world  out  of  which 
they  had  stepped  into  the  new,  and  they  sat  like  a 
couple  of  Peris  at  the  gate  of  Paradise,  but  less  dis- 
contented. 

Both  the  young  men  were  handsome  in  their  several 
ways.  The  yeoman  was  tall,  slender,  dark  and 
markedly  quiet  in  his  manner.  His  clear-cut  face  was 
clean-shaven ;  he  had  black  hair,  dark  blue  eyes,  put  in 
— as  the  Irish  say — with  a  dirty  finger,  and  his  figure 
was  admirably  proportioned.  In  his  khaki  he  looked 
a  fine  specimen  of  a  man  in  his  twenty-fifth  year.  But 
his  expression  was  stern,  even  bitter,  and  there  were 
thoughtful  furrows  on  his  forehead  which  should  not 
have  been  there  at  his  age.  Conniston  noted  these, 
and  concluded  silently  that  the  world  had  gone  awry 
\vith  his  formerly  sunny-faced  friend.  At  Eton,  Gore 
had  always  been  happy  and  good-tempered. 

Conniston  himself  formed  a  contrast  to  his  com- 
panion. He  was  not  tall,  but  slightly-built  and  wiry, 
alert  in  his  manner  and  quick  in  his  movements.  As 
fair  as  Gore  was  dark,  he  wore  a  small  light  mustache, 
which  he  pulled  restlessly  when  excited.  In  his  smart, 
tight-fitting  uniform  he  looked  a  natty  jimp  soldier,  and 
his  reduced  position  did  not  seem  to  affect  his  spirits. 
He  smiled  and  joked  and  laughed  and  bubbled  over 
with  delight  on  seeing  his  school  chum  again.  Gore 
was  also  delighted,  but,  being  quieter,  did  not  reveal 
his  pleasure  so  openly. 


12  The  Red  JVindow 

When  they  were  seated,  the  lancer  produced  au 
ornate  silver  case,  far  too  extravagant  for  a  private, 
and  offered  Gore  a  particularly  excellent  cigarette. 
"  I  have  a  confiding  tobacconist,"  said  Conniston, 
"  who  supplies  me  with  the  best,  in  the  hope  that  I'll 
pay  hiin  some  day.  I  can  stand  a  lot,  but  bad  tobacco 
is  beyond  my  powers  of  endurance.  I'm  a  self-in- 
dulgent beast.  Gore !  " 

Gore  lighted  up.  "  How  did  your  tobacconist  know 
you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Because  a  newly-grown  mustache  wasn't  a  suffi- 
cient disguise.  I  walked  into  the  shop  one  day  hoping 
he  was  out.  But  he  chanced  to  be  in,  and  immediately 
knew  me.  I  made  him  promise  to  hold  his  tongue,  and 
said  I  had  volunteered  for  the  war.  He's  a  good  chap, 
and  never  told  a  soul.  Oh,  mv  aunt !  "  chattered  Con- 
niston.  "  What  would  my  noble  relatives  say  if  they 
saw  me  in  this  kit  ?  " 

"  You  are  supposed  to  be  in  California  ?  " 

"  That's  so — shootin'.  But  I'm  quartered  at  Can- 
terbury, and  only  come  up  to  town  every  now  and 
again.  Of  course  I  take  care  to  keep  out  of  the  fash- 
ionable world,  so  no  one's  spotted  me  yet." 

"  Your  officers !  " 

"  There's  no  one  in  the  regiment  I  know.  The 
Tommies  take  me  for  a  gentleman  who  has  gone 
wrong,  and  I  keep  to  their  society.  I^ot  that  a  private 
has  much  to  do  mth  the  officers.  They  take  little 
notice  of  me,  and  I've  learned  to  say,  'Sir!'  quite 
nicely,"  grinned  Conniston. 

"  What  on  earth  made  you  enlist  ?  " 

"  I  might  put  the  same  question  to  you,  Bernard  ?  " 


Comrades  13 


"  I'll  tell  you  my  story  later.     Out  with  yours,  old 

boy." 

"  Just  tlie  same  authoritative  manner,"  said  Con- 
niston,  shrugging.  "  I  never  did  have  a  chap  order 
me  about  as  you  do.  If  you  weren't  such  a  good  chap 
you'd  have  been  a  bully  with  that  domineering  way 
you  have.  I  wonder  how  you  like  knuckling  under  to 
orders  ? " 

"  He  who  cannot  serve  is  not  fit  to  command," 
quoted  Gore,  sententiously.     "  Go  on  mth  the  story." 

"  It's  not  much  of  a  story.  I  came  in  for  the  title 
three  years  ago,  when  I  was  rising  twenty.  But  I  in- 
herited nothing  else.  My  respected  grandfather  made 
away  with  nearly  all  the  family  estates,  and  my  poor 
father  parted  with  the  rest.  Upon  my  word,"  said  the 
young  lord,  laughing,  "  with  two  such  rascals  as  pro- 
genitors, it's  wonderful  I  should  be  as  good  as  I  am. 
They  drank  and  gambled  and — " 

"  Don't,  Conniston.  After  all  your  father  is  your 
father." 

"  Tf  as  my  father,  you  mean.  He's  dead  and  buried 
in  the  family  vault.  I  own  that  much  property — all  I 
have." 

"Where  is  it?" 

"  At  Cove  Castle  in  the  Essex  Marshes !  " 

"  I  remember.  You  told  me  about  it  at  school.  Cove 
Castle  is  ten  miles  from  Hurseton." 

"  And  Hurseton  is  where  your  uncle.  Sir  Simon, 
lives." 

Gore  looked  black.  "  Yes,"  he  said  shortly.  "  Go 
on  I" 

Conniston  drew  his  own  conclusions  from  the  frown, 
and  rattled  on  in  his  usual  cheerful  manner.     "  I  came 


14  The  lied  U^indow 

into  the  title  as  I  said,  but  scarcely  an  acre  is  there  at- 
tached to  it,  save  those  of  mud  and  Avater  round  Cove 
Castle.  I  had  a  sum  of  ready  money  left  by  my  grand- 
mother— old  Lady  Tain,  you  remember — and  I  got 
through  that  as  soon  as  possible.  It  didn't  last  long," 
added  the  profligate,  grinning ;  "  but  I  had  a  glorious 
time  while  it  lasted.  Then  the  smash  came.  I  took 
what  was  left  and  went  to  America.  Things  got  worse 
there,  so,  on  hearing  the  war  was  on,  I  came  back  and 
enlisted  as  Dick  West.  I  revealed  myself  only  to  my 
lawyer;  and,  of  course,  ray  tobacconist — old  Taberley 
— knows.  But  from  paragraphs  in  the  Society  papers 
about  my  noble  self  I'm  supposed  to  be  in  California. 
Of  course,  as  I  told  you,  I  take  jolly  good  care  to  keep 
out  of  everyone's  way.  I'm  off  to  the  Cape  in  a  month, 
and  then  if  Fortune  favors  me  with  a  commission  and 
a  V.C.  I'll  take  up  the  title  again." 

"  You  still  hold  the  castle,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes.  It's  the  last  of  the  old  property.  Old  Mother 
Moon  looks  after  it  for  me.  She's  a  horrid  old  squaw, 
but  devoted  to  me.  So  she  ought  to  be.  I  got  that  brat 
of  a  grandson  of  hers  a  situation  as  messenger  boy  to 
old  Taberley.  Not  that  he's  done  much  good.  He's 
out  of  his  place  now,  and  from  all  accounts,  is  a  regu- 
lar young  brute." 

"  Does  he  know  you  have  enlisted?" 

''  What,  young  Judas — I  call  him  Judas,"  said  Con- 
niston,  "  because  he's  such  a  criminal  kid.  No,  he 
doesn't.  Taberley  had  to  turn  him  away  for  robbing 
the  till  or  something.  Judas  has  spoiled  his  morals  by 
reading  penny  novels,  and  by  this  time  I  shouldn't  won- 
der if  he  hasn't  embarked  on  a  career  of  crime  like  a 
young  Claude  Duval.    No,  Gore,  he  doesn't  know.    I'm 


Comrades  15 


glad  of  it — as  he  would  tell  Mother  Moon,  and  then 
she'd  howl  the  castle  down  at  the  thought  of  the  head 
of  the  West  family  being  brought  so  low." 

"  West  is  your  family  name,  isn't  it  ?  " 

•'  It  is;  and  Richard  is  my  own  name — Richard  Gren- 
ville  Plantagenet  West,  Lord  Conniston.  That's  my 
title.  But  I  dropped  all  frills,  and  here  I  smoke,  Dick 
West  at  your  service,  Bernard,  my  boy.  So  now  you've 
asked  me  enough  questions,  what's  your  particular 
lie?" 

"  Dick,  Dick,  vou  are  as  hair-brained  as  ever.  I 
never  could — " 

"  N'o,"  interrupted  Conniston,  "  you  never  could 
sober  me.  Bless  you,  Bernard,  it's  better  to  laugh  than 
frown,  though  you  don't  think  so." 

Gore  pitched  away  the  stump  of  his  cigarette  and 
laughed  somewhat  sadly.  "  I  have  cause  to  frown," 
said  he,  wrinkling  his  forehead.  "  My  grandfather  has 
cut  me  off  with  a  shilling." 

"  The  deuce  he  has,"  said  Conniston  coolly.  "  Take 
another  cigarette,  old  boy,  and  buck  up.  Kow  that  you 
haven't  a  cent,  you'll  be  able  to  carve  your  way  to  for- 
tune." 

''  That's  a  philosophic  way  to  look  at  the  matter, 
Dick." 

"  The  only  way,"  rejoined  Conniston,  emphatically. 
"  When  you've  cut  your  moorings  you  can  make  for 
mid-ocean  and  see  life.  It's  storm  that  tries  the  vessel, 
Bernard,  and  you're  too  good  a  chap  to  lie  up  in  port 
as  a  dull  country  squire." 

Bernard  looked  round,  surprised.  It  was  not  usual 
to  hear  the  light-hearted  Dicky  moralize  thus.  He 
was  as  sententious  as  Touchstone,  and  for  the  moment 


16  The  Red  Window 

Gore,  who  usually  gave  advice,  found  himself  receiving 
it.  The  two  seemed  to  have  changed  places.  Dick 
noticed  the  look  and  slapped  Gore  on  the  back.  "  I've 
been  seeing  life  since  we  parted  at  Eton,  old  boy,"  said 
he,  "  and  it — the  trouble  of  it,  I  mean — has  hammered 
me  into  shape." 

"  It  hasn't  made  you  despondent,  though." 

"  And  it  never  will,"  said  Conniston,  emphatically, 
"  until  I  meet  with  the  woman  who  refuses  to  marry  me. 
Then  I'll  howl." 

"  You  haven't  met  the  woman  yet  ? " 

"  Xo.  But  vou  have.  I  can  see  it  in  the  telltale 
blush.  Bless  me,  old  Gore,  how  boyish  j'ou  are.  I 
haven't  blushed  for  years." 

"  You  hardened  sinner.  Yes !  There  is  a  woman, 
and  she  is  the  cause  of  my  trouble." 

"  The  usual  case,"  said  the  worldly-wise  Eichard. 
"Who  is  she?" 

"  Her  name  is  Alice,"  said  Gore,  slowly,  his  eyes  on 
the  damp  grass. 

"  A  pretty  unromantic,  domestic  name.  '  Don't  you 
remember  sweet  Alice,  Ben  Bolt  ? '  " 

"  I'm  ahvays  remembering  her,"  said  Gore,  angi'ily. 
"  Don't  quote  that  song,  Dick.  I  used  to  sing  it  to  her. 
Poor  Alice." 

"  What's  her  other  name  ? " 

"  Malleson — Alice  Malleson !  " 

"  Great  Scott !  "  said  Conniston,  his  jaw  falling. 
"  The  niece  of  Miss  Berengaria  Plantagenet  ?  " 

"  Yes !  Do  you  know —  ?  "  Here  Gore  broke  off, 
annoyed  with  himself.  "  Of  course.  How  could  I  for- 
get?    Miss  Plantagenet  is  your  aunt." 

"  My  rich  aunt,  who  could  leave  me  five  thousand  a 


Comrades  17 


year  if  she'd  only  die.    But  I  daresay  she'll  leave  it  to 
Alice  with  the  light-brown  hair,  and  you'll  marry  her." 

"  Conniston,  don't  be  an  ass.  If  you  know  the  story 
of  Miss  Malleson's  life,  you  must  know  that  there  isn't 
the  slightest  chance  of  her  inheriting  the  money." 

"  Ah,  but,  you  see,  Bernard,  I  don't  know  the  story." 

"  You  know  Miss  Plantagenet.  She  sometimes  talks 
of  you." 

"  How  good  of  her,  seeing  that  I've  hardly  been  in 
her  company  for  the  last  ten  years.  I  remember  go- 
ing to  "  The  Bower  "  when  a  small  boy,  and  making 
myself  ill  with  plums  in  a  most  delightful  kitchen  gar- 
den. I  was  scolded  by  a  wonderful  old  lady  as  small 
as  a  fairy  and  rather  like  one  in  looks — a  regular  bad 
fairy." 

"  JSTo !  no.     She  is  very  kind." 

"She  wasn't  to  me,"  confessed  Conniston;  "but  I 
daresay  she  will  have  more  respect  for  me  now  that  I'm 
the  head  of  the  family.  Lord !  to  think  of  that  old 
woman's  money." 

"  Conniston,  she  would  be  angry  if  she  knew  you  had 
enlisted.  She  is  so  proud  of  her  birth  and  of  her  con- 
nection with  the  Wests.  Why  don't  you  call  and  tell 
her—" 

"  No,  indeed.  I'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort.  And  don't 
you  say  a  word  either,  Bernard.  I'm  going  to  carve  out 
my  own  fortune.  I  don't  want  money  seasoned  with 
advice  from  that  old  cat." 

"  She  is  not  an  old  cat !  " 

"  She  must  be,  for  she  wasn't  a  kitten  when  I  saw  her 
years  ago.  But  about  Miss  Malleson.  Who  ia  she  ?  I 
know  she's  Miss  Plantagenet's  niece.    But  who  is  she  ?  " 

"  She  is  not  the  niece — only  an  adopted  one.     She 


18  IVie  Red  IVindow 

has  been  with  Miss  Phmtagenet  for  the  last  nine  years, 
and  came  from  a  French  convent.  Miss  Plantagenet 
treats  her  like  a  niece,  but  it  is  an  understood  thing 
that  Alice  is  to  receive  no  money." 

"  That  looks  promising  for  me/'  said  Conniston,  pull- 
ing his  mustache,  "  but  my  old  aunt  is  so  healthy  that 
I'll  be  gray  in  the  head  before  I  get  a  cent.  So  you've 
fallen  in  love  with  Alice  ? " 

"  Yes,"  sighed  Gore,  drawing  figures  with  his  cane. 
"  I  love  her  dearly  and  she  loves  me.  But  my  grand- 
father objects.  I  insisted  upon  marrying  Alice,  so  he 
cut  me  off  with  a  shilling.  I  expect  the  money  will 
go  to  my  cousin,  Julius  Beryl,  and,  like  you,  I'll  have 
to  content  myself  with  a  barren  title." 

"  But  why  is  Sir  Simon  so  hard.  Gore  ?  " 

Bernard  frowned  again.  "  Do  you  notice  how  dark 
I  am  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes !     You  have  rather  an  Italian  look." 

"  That's  clever  of  you,  Dick.  My  mother  was  Ital- 
ian, the  daughter  of  a  noble  Florentine  family;  but  in 
England  was  nothing  but  a  poor  governess.  My  father 
married  her,  and  Sir  Simon — his  father — cut  him  off. 
Then  when  my  parents  died,  my  grandfather  sent  for 
me,  and  brought  me  up.  We  have  never  been  good 
friends,"  sighed  Bernard  again,  "  and  when  I  wanted 
to  marry  Alice  there  was  a  row.  I  fear  I  lost  my  tem- 
per. You  know  from  my  mother  I  inherit  a  fearful 
temper,  nor  do  I  think  the  Gores  are  the  calmest  of  peo- 
ple. However,  Sir  Simon  swore  that  he  wouldn't  have 
another  mesalliance  in  the  family  and — " 

''Mesalliance?'' 

"  Yes !  No  one  knows  who  Alice  is,  and  Miss  Plan- 
tagenet— who  does  know — won't  tell." 


Comrades  19 


"  You  said  no  one  knew,  and  now  you  say  Miss  Plan- 
tagenet  does,"  said  Conniston,  laughing.  "  You're 
getting  mixed,  Bernard.  Well,  so  you  and  Sir  Simon 
had  a  row  ?  " 

"  A  royal  row.  He  ordered  me  out  of  the  house. 
I  fear  I  said  things  to  him  I  should  not  have  said,  but 
my  blood  was  boiling  at  the  insults  he  heaped  on  Alice. 
And  you  know  Sir  Simon  is  a  miser.  My  extravagance 
— though  I  really  wasn't  very  extravagant — might 
have  done  something  to  get  his  back  up.  However,  the 
row  came  off,  and  I  was  turned  away.  I  came  to 
town,  and  could  see  nothing  better  to  do  than  enlist, 
so  I  have  been  in  the  Yeomanry  for  the  last  four 
months,  and  have  managed  to  reach  the  rank  of  cor- 
poral.    I  go  out  to  the  war  soon." 

"  We'll  go  together,"  said  Conniston,  brightening, 
"  and  then  when  you  come  back  covered  with  glory. 
Sir  Simon — " 

"  No.  He  won't  relent  unless  I  give  up  Alice,  and 
that  I  will  not  do.  What  does  it  matter  if  Alice  is 
nameless  ?    I  love  her,  and  that  is  enough  for  me !  " 

"  And  too  much  for  your  grandfather,  evidently. 
But  what  about  that  cousin  of  yours,  you  used  to  talk 
of?    Lucy  something — " 

"  Lucy  Randolph.  Oh,  she's  a  dear  little  girl,  and 
has  been  an  angel.  She  is  trying  to  soothe  Sir  Simon, 
and  all  through  has  stood  my  friend.  I  made  her 
promise  that  she  would  put  a  lamp  in  the  Red  Window 
when  Sir  Simon  relented — if  he  ever  does  relent." 

Conniston  looked  puzzled.     "  The  Red  Window  ?  " 

"  Ah !  You  don't  know  the  legend  of  the  Red  Win- 
dow. There  is  a  window  of  that  sort  at  the  Hall, 
which  was  used  during  the  Parliamentary  wars  to  ad- 


20  The  Red  Window 

vise  loyal  cavaliers  of  clanger.  It  commands  a  long  pros- 
pect down  the  side  avenue.  The  story  is  too  long  to 
tell  you.  But,  you  see,  Conniston,  I  can't  get  near  the 
house,  and  my  only  chance  of  knowing  if  Sir  Simon  is 
better  disposed  towards  me  is  by  looking  from  the  out- 
side of  the  park  up  to  the  Ived  Window.  If  this  shows 
a  red  light  I  know  that  he  is  relenting ;  if  not,  he  is  still 
angry.  I  have  been  once  or  twice  to  the  Hall,"  said 
Gore,  shaking  his  head,  "  but  no  light  has  been  sho^\Ti." 

"  What  a  roundabout  way  of  letting  you  know  things. 
Can't  Lucy  write  ?  " 

Gore  shook  his  head  again.  "  iSTo.  You  see,  she  is 
engaged  to  Julius,  who  hates  me." 

"  Oh,  that  Beryl  man.  He  comes  in  for  the 
money  ?  " 

"  Now  that  I'm  chucked  I  suppose  he  will,"  said  Ber- 
nard, gloomily;  "  and  I  don't  want  to  get  poor  Lucy 
into  his  black  books,  as  he  isn't  a  nice  sort  of  chap. 
He  won't  thank  her  if  she  tries  to  bias  the  old  man 
in  my  favor.  And  then  there's  the  housekeeper  who 
doesn't  like  me — Mrs.  Gilroy  her  name  is.  She  and 
Julius  will  both  keep  Sir  Simon's  temper  alive.  I 
can't  write  to  him,  or  my  letter  would  be  intercepted 
and  destroyed  by  Mrs.  Gilroy.  Lucy  can't  write  me 
because  of  Julius,  so  my  only  chance  of  knowing  if  the 
old  man  is  thinking  better  of  his  detei-uiination  is  by 
watching  for  the  red  light.  I  shall  go  down  again  twice 
before  I  leave  for  Africa." 

"  And  if  you  see  the  red  light  you  won't  stick  to 
soldiering?  " 

"  Yes,  I  A\dll.  But  I'll  then  walk  boldly  up  to  the 
Hall  and  tell  Sir  Simon  how  sorry  I  am.  But  in  any 
case  I  intend  to  fight  for  my  country.     Alice  herself 


Comrades  21 


wouldn't  ask  me  to  be  a  coward  and  leave.  I  go  to  the 
Cape  with  you,  Conniston,"  said  Bernard,  rising. 

"  Good  old  chap,"  said  Conniston,  delighted,  "  you're 
the  only  fellow  I'd  care  to  churn  up  with.  I  have  often 
thought  of  you  since  we  parted.  But  you  rarely  wrote 
to  me." 

"  You  were  the  better  correspondent,  I  admit,"  said 
Gore,  as  they  walked  across  the  bridge.  "  I  am 
ashamed  I  did  not  continue  our  school  friendship,  as  we 
always  were  such  chums,  but — " 

"  The  inevitable  woman.  Ah,  Delilah  always  comes 
between  David  and  Jonathan." 

"  Don't  call  Alice  by  that  name !  "  fired  up  Gore. 

"  Well,  then,  I  won't.  But  don't  get  in  a  wax.  What 
a  fire-brand  you  are,  Gore  !  Just  as  fierce  as  you  were 
at  schooL" 

"  Yes,"  said  Bernard,  quieting  down.  ^'  I  only  hope 
my  bad  temper  will  not  ruin  me  some  day.  I  tell  you, 
Conniston,  when  Sir  Simon  pitched  into  me  I  felt  in- 
clined to  throw  something  at  his  head.  He  was  most 
insulting.  I  didn't  mind  what  he  said  about  me,  but 
when  he  began  to  slang  Alice  I  told  him  I'd  pitch  him 
out  of  the  window  if  he  didn't  stop.  And  I  said  many 
other  foolish  things." 

"  Shouldn't  do  that.     He's  an  old  man." 

"  I  know — I  know.  I  was  a  fool.  But  you  have  no 
idea  how  readily  my  temper  gets  the  better  of  me.  I 
could  strangle  anyone  who  said  a  word  against  my 
Alice." 

"  Well,  don't  strangle  me,"  said  Conniston,  laughing. 
"  I  won't  call  her  Delilah  again,  I  promise  you.  But 
about  your  Red  Window  business — ^you  needn't  go 
down  to  the  Hall  for  a  week  or  so." 


22  The  Red  JVindow 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  Sir  Simon  is  in  town." 

"  Nonsense.    He  never  comes  to  town." 

"  He  has  this  time.  Qucerly  enough,  his  lawyers  are 
mine.  I  saw  him  at  the  office  and  asked  who  he  was. 
Durham,  my  lawyer  friend,  told  me." 

"  How  long  ago  was  that?  " 

"  Three  days.  I  came  up  on  business,  and  was  in 
plains !  " 

"Plains?" 

"  What !  you  a  soldier  and  don't  know  plain  clothes 
are  called  so.  You  are  an  old  ass,  Bernard.  But,  1  say, 
I've  got  digs  of  a  sort  hereabouts.  Come  and  dine  with 
me  to-night." 

"  But  I  haven't  any  dress  clothes.  I  got  rid  of  them, 
thinking  I  was  going  to  the  Ca^pe  sooner." 

"  Then  come  in  khaki.  You  look  A  1  in  it.  Here's 
the  address,"  and  Conniston  hastily  scribbled  something 
on  his  card.    "  I  shall  expect  you  at  seven." 

The  two  friends  parted  Avith  a  hearty  handshake,  and 
Gore  walked  away  feeling  happier  than  he  had  been. 
Conniston,  gazing  after  him,  felt  a  tug  at  his  coat.  He 
looked  down,  and  saw  a  small  boy.  "  Judas,"  said  Con- 
niston, "  you  young  brute !     How  did  you  know  me  ?  " 


CHAPTER   II 


SIR   SIMON   GORE 


Avarice,  according  to  Byron,  is  a  gentlemanly  \ace 
appertaining  to  old  age.  It  certainly  acted  like  Aaron's 
rod  with  Sir  Simon,  as  it  swallowed  up  all  his  more 
youthful  sins.  During  the  early  part  of  the  Victorian 
epoch,  the  old  man  had  been  a  spendthrift  and  a  rake. 
!N^ow,  he  never  looked  agreeably  upon  a  woman,  and  the 
prettier  they  were  the  more  he  frowned  upon  them.  As 
he  was  close  upon  eighty,  it  was  not  to  be  wondered  at 
that  his  blood  ran  thin  and  cold ;  still,  he  might  have 
retained  the  courtesy  for  which  he  was  famous  in  his 
hot  youth.  But  he  eschewed  female  society  in  the 
main,  and  was  barely  civil  to  his  pretty,  fascinating 
niece,  who  attended  to  him  and  bore  with  his  ill-humors. 
Only  Mrs.  Gilroy  succeeded  in  extorting  civil  words 
from  him,  but  then  Mrs,  Gilroy  was  necessary  to  his 
comfort,  being  a  capital  nurse  and  as  quiet  as  a  cat 
about  the  house.  Where  his  own  pleasure  was  con- 
cerned Sir  Simon  could  be  artful. 

Long  ago  he  had  given  up  luxury.  He  never  put 
liquor  to  his  withered  lips,  he  ate  only  the  plainest  food, 
and  surrounded  himself  with  merely  the  bare  neces- 
sities of  life.  All  his  aims  were  to  gather  money,  to 
see  it  increase,  to  buy  land,  to  screw  the  last  penny  out 
of  unAvilling  tenants,  and  to  pick  up  a  farthing,  in  what- 
ever mud  it  might  be  lying.  He  never  helped  tlic  poor, 
be  grudged  repairs  to  the  property,  he  kept  Lucj'  oft 


24  The  Red  Window 

sTiort  commons,  and  expressed  such  violent  opinions 
concerning  the  rector's  tithes  that  the  poor  man  was 
afraid  to  come  near  him.  As  Sir  Simon,  like  a  godless 
old 'pagan,  never  went  to  church,  the  absence  of  the 
clerical  element  at  the  Hall  troubled  him  little.  He  was 
a  typical  miser  in  looks,  being  bent,  withered  and  dry. 
As  a  young  man  he  had  bought,  in  his  spendthrift  daj^s, 
a  great  number  of  suits,  and  these  he  was  wearing  out 
in  his  old  age.  The  garments,  once  fashionable,  looked 
queer  in  the  eyes  of  a  younger  generation;  but  Sir 
Simon  minded  no  one.  He  was  always  scrupulously 
dressed  in  his  antique  garb,  and  looked,  as  the  saying 
goes,  as  neat  as  a  new  pin.  His  health  was  tolerable, 
although  he  suffered  from  rheumatism  and  a  constant 
cough.  Owing  to  his  total  abstinence,  he  was  free  from 
gout,  but  could  not  have  been  worse  tempered  had  he 
indeed  suffered,  as  he  assuredly  deserved  to.  With  his 
withered  skin,  his  thin,  high  nose,  his  pinched  features 
and  his  bent  form  he  looked  anything  but  agreeable. 
When  walking  he  supported  himself  with  an  ebony 
cane,  and  had  been  known  on  occasions  to  use  it  on  the 
backs  of  underlings.  From  this  practice,  however,  he 
had  desisted,  since  the  underlings,  forgetful  of  the 
feudal  system,  brought  actions  for  assault,  which  re- 
sulted in  Sir  Simon  losing  money.  As  the  old  Baronet 
said,  radical  opinions  were  ruining  the  country;  for 
why  should  the  lower  orders  not  submit  to  the  stick? 

It  was  rarely  that  this  agreeable  old  gentleman  came 
to  town.  He  lived  at  the  Hall  in  Essex  in  savage  seclu- 
sion, and  there  ruled  over  a  diminished  household  with 
a  rod  of  iron.  Mrs.  Gilroy,  who  had  been  with  him 
for  many  years,  was — outwardly — as  penurious  as  her 
master,  so  he  trusted  her  as  much  as  he  trusted  anyone. 


Sir  Simon  Gore  25 

What  between  the  grim  old  man  and  the  silent  house- 
keeper, poor  Lucy  Randolph,  who  was  only  a  connection, 
had  a  dreary  time.  But  then,  as  the  daughter  of  Sir 
Simon's  niece,  she  was  regarded  as  an  interloper,  and 
the  old  man  grumbled  at  having  to  support  poor  rela- 
tions. Bernard  he  had  tolerated  as  his  heir,  Lucy  he 
frankly  disliked  as  a  caterpillar.  Often  would  he  call 
her  this  name. 

As  usual.  Sir  Simon  came  to  town  ^dth  the  least  ex- 
pense to  himself,  since  it  agonized  him  to  spend  a 
penny.  But  an  old  friend  of  his,  more  open-handed 
than  the  baronet,  had  lent  him  his  town  house.  This 
was  a  small  residence  in  a  quiet  Kensington  square,  by 
no  means  fashionable.  The  central  gardens,  sur- 
rounded by  rusty  iron  railings,  were  devoid  of  flowers 
and  filled  with  ragged  elms  and  sycamores,  suffered  to 
grow  amidst  rank  grass  untrinuned  and  unattended. 
The  roads  around  were  green  -with  weeds,  and  the 
houses  appeared  to  be  deserted.  Indeed,  many  of  them 
were,  as  few  people  cared  to  live  in  so  dull  a  neighbor- 
hood; but  others  were  occupied  by  elderly  folk,  who 
loved  the  quietness  and  retirement.  Crimea  square — ■ 
its  name  hinted  at  its  age — was  a  kind  of  backwater 
into  which  drifted  human  derelicts.  A  few  yards  away 
the  main  thoroughfare  roared  with  life  and  pulsed  ^\'ith 
Adtality,  but  the  dwellers  in  the  square  lived  as  in  the 
enchanted  wood  of  the  sleeping  beauty. 

Ko.  32  was  the  house  occupied  by  Sir  Simon,  and  it 
was  distinguished  from  its  neighbors  by  a  coat  of  white 
paint.  Its  spurious,  smart  air  was  quite  out  of  keeping 
with  the  neighborhood,  and  Sir  Simon  made  ironical  re- 
marks when  he  saw  its  attempt  at  being  up-to-date.  But 
the  house  was  small,  and,  although  furnished  in  a  giin- 


26  The  Red  Jf^ndow 

crack  way,  was  good  enough  for  a  month's  residence. 
Moreover,  since  he  paid  no  rent,  this  enhanced  its  value 
in  his  avaricious  eyes.  It  may  be  mentioned  that  the  ser- 
vants of  the  o\vner — a  cook,  a  housemaid  and  a  page- 
boy— had  stopped  on  to  oblige  Sir  Simon,  and  were 
ruled  over  by  Mrs.  Gilroy,  much  to  their  disgust.  The 
liousekeeper  was  by  no  means  a  pleasant  mistress,  and 
turned  their  intended  holiday  into  a  time  of  particu- 
larly hard  work. 

It  was  about  the  servants  that  Mrs.  Gilroy  spoke  to 
her  master  one  morning  shortly  after  the  occupation  of 
the  house.  Sir  Simon,  accurately  dressed  as  usual,  and 
looking  like  a  character  out  of  Dickens  as  delineated  by 
Phiz,  was  seated  beside  a  comfortable  fire  supping  a  cup 
of  plasmon  cocoa,  as  containing  the  most  nutriment  iu 
the  least  expensive  form.  While  enjoying  it,  he  men- 
tally calculated  various  sums  owing  from  various  ten- 
ants about  which  he  had  come  to  see  his  lawyers. 

The  room  was  of  no  great  size,  on  the  ground  floor, 
and  had  but  two  windows,  which  looked  out  on  the 
dreary,  untidy  gardens.  Like  the  exterior  of  the  house, 
it  had  been  newly  painted  and  decorated,  and  was  also 
furnished  in  a  cheap  way  with  chairs  and  tables,  sofas 
and  cabinets  attractive  to  the  uneducated  eye,  but  de- 
testable to  anyone  who  could  appreciate  art.  The 
scheme  of  color  was  garish,  and,  but  that  the  blinds 
were  pulled  half-way  down,  so  as  to  exclude  too  search- 
ing a  light,  would  have  jarred  on  Sir  Simon's  nerves. 
Lucy  Kandolph,  who  sat  reading  near  the  window,  shud- 
dered at  the  newness  and  veneer  of  her  surround- 
ings and  thought  regretfully  of  the  lovely,  mellow  old 
Hall,  where  everything  was  in  keeping  and  hallowed 
by  anti(iuity.     All  the  same,  this  too  brilliantly-cheap 


Sir  Simon  Gore  27 

room  was  cosy  and  comfortable,  bright  and  cheery,  and 
a  pleasing  contrast  to  the  fogg}'',  gTay,  damp  weather. 
Perhaps  it  was  this  contrast  which  its  decorator  had 
desired  to  secure. 

Mrs.  Gilroy,  with  folded  hands,  stood  at  her  master's 
elbow,  a  tall,  thin,  silent,  demnre  woman  with  down- 
cast eyes.  Plainly  dressed  in  black  silk,  somewhat 
worn,  and  with  carefully-mended  lace,  she  looked  like 
a  lady  who  had  seen  better  days.  Her  hair,  and  eyes, 
and  skin,  and  lips,  were  all  of  a  drab  color,  by  no  means 
pleasing,  and  she  moved  with  the  stealthy  step  of  a  cat. 
Indeed,  the  servants  oj)enly  expressed  their  opinion  that 
she  was  one,  and  she  certainly  had  a  somewhat  feline 
look.  But,  with  all  her  softness  and  nun-like  meekness, 
an  occasional  glance  from  her  light  eyes  showed  that 
she  could  scratch  when  necessary.  Xo  one  knew  who 
she  was  or  where  she  came  from,  but  she  looked  like  a 
woman  with  a  history.  What  that  was  only  she  and  Sir 
Simon  knew,  and  neither  was  communicative.  Lucy 
Randolph  hated  her,  and  indeed  no  love  was  lost  be- 
tween the  two.  Mrs.  Gilroy  looked  on  Lucy  as  a  pauper 
living  on  Sir  Simon's  charity,  and  Miss  Eandolph  re- 
garded the  silent  housekeeper  as  a  spy.  Each  an- 
noyed the  other  on  every  occasion  in  that  skilful  way 
kno^vn  to  the  sex.  But  the  war  was  carried  on  out  of 
the  old  man's  sight.  That  autocrat  would  speedily  have 
put  an  end  to  it  had  they  dared  to  skirmish  in  his 
presence. 

"  Well !  well !  well !  "  snapped  Sir  Simon,  who 
talked  something  like  George  III.  in  reiterating  his 
words.     "  What's  the  matter?     What?  " 

"  I  have  to  complain  of  the  housemaid  Jane,  sir." 

'^  Then  doa't,    I  pay  you  to  keep  the  servants  quiet, 


28  The  Red  li^indow 

not  to  bother  me  with  their  goings-on.  Well!  well! 
well !  "  somewhat  inconsistently,  "  what's  Jane  been 
doing  ? " 

"  Receiving  a  follower — a  soldier — one  of  those  new 
young  men  who  are  going  to  the  war." 

"  An  Imperial  Yeoman  ?  "  put  in  Miss  Randolph, 
looking  up  with  interest. 

"  Yes,  Miss,"  responded  Mrs.  Gilroy,  not  looking 
round.  "  Cook  tells  me  the  young  man  comes  nearly 
every  evening,  and  makes  love  to  Jane !  " 

"  What !  w^hat !  "  said  the  baronet,  setting  down  his 
cup  irritably.  "  Tell  the  hussy  to  go  at  once.  Love  ?  " 
This  in  a  tone  of  scorn.  "  As  though  I've  not  had  enougli 
worry  over  that  with  Bernard.     Tell  her  to  go." 

Mrs.  Gilroy  shook  her  head.  "  We  can't  dismiss  her, 
sir.     She  belongs  to  the  house,  and  Mr.  Jeffrey  " — 

"  I'll  see  him  about  it  later.  If  he  knew  he  cer- 
tainly would  not  allow  such  things.  A  soldier — eh — 
Avhat?  Turn  him  out,  Gilroy,  turn  him  out!  Won't 
have  it,  won't  have  him !    There !  you  can  go." 

"  Will  you  be  out  to-day,  sir  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  go  to  see  my  lawyers.  Do  you  think  I  come 
to  town  to  waste  time,  Gilroy?     Go  away." 

But  the  housekeeper  did  not  seem  eager  to  go.  She 
cast  a  look  on  Lucy  eloquent  of  a  desire  to  be  alone 
wilh  Sir  Simon.  That  look  J^ucy  took  no  notice  of, 
altliough  she  understood  it  plainly.  She  suspected  Mrs. 
Gilroy  of  hating  Julius  Beryl  and  of  favoring  Bernard. 
Consequently,  all  the  influence  of  Mrs.  Gilroy  would  be 
put  forth  to  help  the  exiled  heir.  Lucy  was  fond  of 
Bernard,  but  she  was  engaged  to  Julius,  and,  dragged 
both  ways  by  liking  and  duty,  she  was  forced  to  a  great 
extent  to  remain  neutral.     But  she  did  not  intend  to 


Sir  Simon  Gore  29 

let  Mrs.  Gilroj  have  the  honor  and  glory  of  bringing 
Bernard  back  to  the  Hall.  Therefore  she  kept  her 
seat  by  the  window  and  her  eyes  on  her  book.  Mrs. 
Gilroy  tightened  her  thin  lips  and  accepted  defeat,  for 
the  moment.  A  ring  at  the  door  gave  her  an  excuse 
to  go. 

"  It's  Julius,"  said  Lucy,  peeping  out. 

"  What  does  he  want  ?  "  asked  Sir  Simon,  crossly. 
"  Tell  him  to  wait,  Gilroy.  I  can't  see  him  at  once. 
Lucy,  stop  here,  I  want  to  speak." 

The  housekeeper  left  the  room  to  detain  Mr.  Beryl, 
and  Lucy  obediently  resumed  her  seat.  She  was  a 
handsome,  dark  girl,  with  rather  a  high  color  and  a 
temper  to  match.  But  she  knew  when  she  was  well 
off  and  kept  her  temper  in  check  for  fear  of  Sir  Simon 
turning  her  adrift.  He  would  have  done  so  without 
scruple  had  it  suited  him.  Lucy  was  therefore  astute 
and  assumed  a  meekness  she  was  far  from  possessing. 
Mrs.  Gilroy  saw  through  her,  but  Lucy — as  the  saying 
goes — pulled  the  wool  over  the  old  man's  eyes. 

Sir  Simon  took  a  turn  up  and  down  the  room. 
"  What  about  Bernard  ?  "  he  asked,  abruptly  stopping 
before  her. 

Lucy  looked  up  Avith  an  innocent  smile.  "  Dear 
Bernard !  "  she  said. 

"  Do  you  know  where  he  is  ?  "  asked  the  baronet, 
taking  no  notice  of  the  sweet  smile  and  sweet  speech. 

"  No,  he  has  not  written  to  me." 

"  But  he  has  to  that  girl.    You  know  her  ?  " 

"  Alice !  yes,  but  Alice  doesn't  like  me.  She  refuses 
to  speak  to  me  about  Bernard.  You  see,"  said  Lucy, 
pensively,  "  I  am  engaged  to  Julius,  and  as  you  have 
sent  Bernard  away — " 


30  The  Red  Windoxv 

"  Julius  comes  in  for  my  money,  is  that  it?  " 

"  Xot  in  my  opinion,"  said  Miss  Randolph,  frankly, 
''  but  Alice  Malleson  thinks  so." 

"  Then  she  thinks  rightly."  Lucy  started  at  this  and 
colored  with  surprise  at  the  outspoken  speech.  "  Since 
Bernard  has  behaved  so  badly,  Julius  shall  be  my  heir. 
The  one  can  have  the  title,  the  other  the  money.  All 
the  same  I  don't  want  Bernard  to  starve.  I  daresay 
Julius  knows  where  he  is,  Lucy.  Find  out,  and  then  I 
can  send  the  boy  something  to  go  on  with." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Lucy,  starting  to  her  feet  and  clasping 
her  hands,  "  the  Red  Window, — I  mean." 

"  I  should  very  much  like  to  know  what  you  do 
mean,"  said  Sir  Simon,  eyeing  her.  "  The  Red  Win- 
dow !  Are  you  thinking  of  that  ridiculous  old  legend 
of  Sir  Aymas  and  the  ghost  ? " 

''  Yes,"  assented  Miss  Randolph,  "  and  of  Bernard 
also." 

"  What  has  he  to  do  with  the  matter  ?  " 

"  He  asked  me,  if  you  showed  any  signs  of  relenting, 
to  put  a  light  in  the  Red  Window  at  the  Hall.  Then 
he  would  come  back." 

"  Oh !  "  Sir  Simon  did  not  seem  to  be  displeased. 
"  Then  you  can  put  the  light  in  the  window  when  we 
go  back  in  three  weeks." 

"  You  will  forgive  him  ?  " 

"  I  don't  say  that.  But  I  want  to  see  him  settled  iu 
some  reputable  way.  After  all,"  added  the  old  man, 
sitting  down,  "  I  have  been  hard  on  the  boy.  He  is 
young,  and,  like  all  fools,  has  fallen  in  love  with  a 
pretty  face.  This  Miss  Malleson — if  she  has  any  right 
to  a  name  at  all — is  not  the  bride  I  should  have  chosen 
for  Bernard.    Now  you,  my  dear  Lucy — " 


Sir  Simon  Gore  31 

"  I  am  engaged  to  Julius,"  she  interposed  quickly, 
and  came  towards  the  fire.     "  I  love  Julius." 

"  Hum !  there's  no  accounting  for  tastes.  I  think 
Bernard  is  the  better  of  the  two." 

"  Bernard  has  always  been  a  trouble,"  said  Lucy, 
"■  and  Julius  has  never  given  you  a  moment's  uneasi- 
ness." 

"  Hum,"  said  Sir  Simon  again,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
fire.  "  I  don't  believe  Julius  is  so  good  as  you  make 
him  out  to  be.    Now  Bernard — " 

"  Uncle,"  said  Lucy,  who  had  long  ago  been  in- 
structed to  call  her  relative  by  this  name,  "  why  don't 
you  make  it  up  with  Bernard?  I  assure  you  Julius  is 
so  good,  he  doesn't  want  to  have  the  money." 

"  And  you  ?  "     The  old  man  looked  at  her  sharply. 

"  I  don't  either.  Julius  has  his  own  little  income, 
and  earns  enough  as  an  architect  to  live  very  comfort- 
ably. Let  me  marry  Julius,  dear  uncle,  and  we  will  be 
happy.  Then  you  can  take  back  Bernard  and  let  him 
marry  dear,  sweet  Alice." 

"  I  doubt  one  woman  when  she  praises  another,"  said 
Sir  Simon,  dryly.     "  Alice  may  be  very  agreeable." 

"  She  is  beautiful  and  clever." 

The  baronet  looked  keenly  at  Lucy's  flushed  face, 
trying  to  fathom  her  reason  for  praising  the  other 
woman.  He  failed,  for  Miss  Randolph's  face  was  as 
innocent  as  that  of  a  child.  ''  She  is  no  doubt  a  paragon, 
my  dear,"  he  said;  "  but  I  won't  have  her  marry  Ber- 
nard. By  this  time  the  young  fool  must  have  come  to 
his  senses.     Find  out  from  Julius  where  he  is,  and — " 

"  J  ulius  may  not  know  !  " 

"  If  Julius  wants  my  money  ho  will  keep  an  eye  on 
Bernard." 


32  The  Red  jrindow 

"  So  as  to  keep  Bernard  away,  said  Lucy,  impet- 
uously. "Ah,  uncle,  how  can  you?  Julius  doesn't 
want  the  money — " 

"  You  don't  know  that." 

"  Ask  him  yourself  then." 

"  I  mil."  Sir  Simon  rang  the  bell  to  intimate  to 
Mrs.  Gilroy  that  Julius  could  be  shown  up.  "  If  he 
doesn't  want  it,  of  course  I  can  leave  it  to  someone  else." 

"  To  Bernard." 

"  Perhaps.  And  yet  I  don't  know,"  fumed  Sir 
Simon.  "  The  rascal  defied  me !  He  offered  to  pitch 
me  out  of  the  mndow  if  I  said  a  w^ord  against  that  Alice 
of  his.     I  want  Bernard  to  marry  you — " 

"  I  am  engaged  to  Julius." 

"  So  you  said  before,"  snapped  the  other.  "  Well, 
then.  Miss  Perry.     She  is  an  heiress." 

"  And  as  plain  as  Alice  is  handsome." 

"  What  does  that  matter  ?  She  is  good-tempered. 
However,  it  doesn't  matter.  I  won't  be  friends  with 
Bernard  unless  he  does  what  I  tell  him.  He  must  give 
up  Alice  and  marry  Miss  Perry.  Try  the  Red  Window 
scheme  when  you  go  back  to  the  Hall,  Lucy.  It  will 
bring  Bernard  to  see  me,  as  you  say." 

"  It  will,"  said  Lucy,  but  by  no  means  willingly. 
"  Bernard  comes  down  at  times  to  the  Hall  to  watch  for 
the  light.     But  I  can  make  a  Red  Window  here." 

"  Bernard  doesn't  know  the  house." 

"  I  am  sure  he  does,"  said  Lucy.  "  He  has  to  go 
to  the  lawyers  for  what  little  money  he  inherits  from 
his  father,  and  Mr.  Durham  may  have  told  him  you  are 
here.  Then  if  I  put  the  liglit  behind  a  red  piece  of 
paper  or  chintz,  Bernard  will  come  here." 

"  It  is  all  romantic  rubbish,"  grumbled  the  old  man, 


Sir  Simon  Gore  33 

warming  his  hands.  "  But  do  what  you  like,  child.  I 
want  to  give  Bernard  a  last  chance."  At  this  moment 
Julius  appeared.  He  was  a  slim  joung  man  mth  a 
mild  face,  rather  expressionless.  His  hair  and  eyes 
were  brown.  He  was  irreproachably  dressed,  and  did 
not  appear  to  have  much  brain  power.  Also,  from  the 
expression  of  his  eyes  he  was  of  a  sly  nature.  Finally, 
Mr.  Beryl  was  guarded  in  his  speech,  being  quite  of  the 
opinion  that  speech  was  given  to  hide  thoughts.  He 
saluted  his  uncle  affectionately,  kissed  Lucy's  cheek  in 
a  cold  way,  and  sat  down  to  observe  what  a  damp,  dull 
day  it  was  and  how  bad  for  Sir  Simon's  rheumatism. 
A  more  colorless,  tmiid,  meek  young  saint  it  would  have 
been  hard  to  find  in  the  whole  of  London. 

"  I  have  brought  you  some  special  snuff,"  he  said, 
extending  a  packet  to  his  host.  "  It  comes  from  Tab- 
erley's." 

"  Ah,  thank  you.  I  know  the  shop.  A  very  good 
one !    Do  you  get  your  cigars  there,  Julius  ? " 

"  I  never  smoke,"  corrected  the  good  young  man, 
coldly. 

Sir  Simon  sneered.  "  You  never  do  anything 
manly,"  he  said  contemptuously.  "  Well,  why  are  you 
here?  " 

"  I  "\vish,  with  your  permission,  to  take  Lucy  to  the 
theatre  on  Friday,"  said  Mr.  Beryl.  "  Mrs.  Webber  is 
going  with  me,  and  she  can  act  as  chaperon." 

"  I  should  think  she  needed  one  herself.  A  nasty, 
flirting  little  cat  of  a  woman,"  said  Sir  Simon,  rudely. 
"  Would  you  like  to  go,  Lucy  ?  " 

"  If  you  don't  mind,  uncle." 

"  Bah !  "  said  the  old  man  with  a  snarl.  "  How  good 
you  two  are.    Where  is  the  theatre,  Julius  ?  " 


34  The  Red  Ji^indow 

"  I^ear  at  liand.    The  Curtain  Theatre." 

"  All !  That's  only  two  streets  away.  What  is  the 
play?" 

"  As  You  Like  It,  by—" 

"  By  Chaucer,  I  suppose,"  snapped  the  old  man. 
"  Don't  you  think  I  know  my  Shakespeare  ?  What  time 
will  you  call  for  Lucy  ?  " 

"  At  half -past  seven  in  the  carriage  Avith  Mrs.  Web- 
ber." 

"  Your  o"v\Ti  carriage  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  rich  enough  to  afford  one,"  said  Julius, 
smiling.  "  Mrs.  Webber's  carriage,  uncle.  We  will 
call  for  Lucy  and  bring  her  back  safely  at  eleven  or 
thereabouts." 

"  Very  good;  but  no  suppers,  mind.  I  don't  approve 
of  Mrs.  Webber  taking  Lucy  to  the  Cecil  or  the  Savoy." 

"  There  is  no  danger  of  that,  uncle,"  said  Lucy,  de- 
lighted at  gaining  permission. 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  the  old  man  ungraciously.  "  You 
can  go,  Lucy.    I  want  to  speak  to  Julius." 

A  look,  unseen  by  the  baronet,  passed  between  the 
two,  and  then  Lucy  left  the  room.  When  alone,  Sir 
Simon  turned  to  his  nephew.  "  Where  is  Bernard  ?  " 
he  asked. 

A  less  clever  man  than  Julius  would  have  fenced  and 
feigned  surprise,  but  this  astute  young  gentleman  an- 
swered at  once.  "  He  has  enlisted  in  the  Imperial 
Yeomanry  and  goes  out  to  the  war  in  a  month," 

Sir  Simon  turned  pale  and  rose.  "  He  must  not — 
he  must  not,"  he  said,  considerably  agitated.  "  He  will 
be  killed,  and  then — " 

"  What  does  it  matter?  "  said  Julius  coolly — "  you 
have  disinherited  him — at  least,  I  understand  so." 


Sir  Simon  Gore  35 

"  He  defied  me,"  shivered  the  baronet,  warming  his 
hands  again  and  with  a  pale  face ;  "  but  I  did  not  think 
he  would  enlist.  I  won't  have  him  go  to  the  war.  He 
must  be  bought  out." 

"  I  think  he  would  refuse  to  be  bought  out  now," 
said  Beryl,  dryly.  "  I  don't  fancy  Bernard,  whatever 
his  faults,  is  a  coward." 

"  My  poor  boy !  "  said  Sir  Simon,  who  was  less  hard 
than  he  looked.  "  It  is  your  fault  that  this  has  hap- 
pened, Julius." 

"  Mine,  uncle  ?  " 

"  Yes.     You  told  me  about  Miss  Malleson." 

"  I  knew  you  would  not  approve  of  the  match,"  said 
Julius,  quietly. 

"  And  you  wanted  me  to  cut  off  Bernard  with  a  shil- 
ling-" 

"  Not  for  my  own  sake,"  said  Julius,  calmly.  "  You 
need  not  leave  a  penny  to  me.  Sir  Simon." 

"  Don't  you  want  the  money  ?  It's  ten  thousand  a 
year." 

"  I  should  like  it  very  much,"  assented  Beryl, 
frankly ;  "  but  I  do  not  want  it  at  the  price  of  my  self- 
respect." 

The  old  man  looked  at  him  piercingly,  but  could  learn 
nothing  from  his  inscrutable  countenance.  But  he  did 
not  trust  Julius  in  spite  of  his  meek  looks,  and  inwardly 
resolved  to  meet  craft  by  craft.  He  bore  a  grudge 
against  this  young  man  for  having  brought  about  the 
banishment  of  his  grandson,  and  felt  inclined  to  punish 
him.  Yet  if  Julius  did  not  want  the  money,  Sir  Simon 
did  not  know  how  to  wound  him.  Yet  he  doubted  if 
Julius  scorned  wealth  so  much  as  he  pretended;  there- 
fore he  arranged  how  to  circumvent  him. 


36  The  Red  Window 

"  Very  well,"  he  said,  "  since  Bernard  has  disobeyed 
me,  you  alone  can  be  my  heir.  You  will  have  the 
money  without  any  loss  of  your  self-respect.  Come 
with  me  this  morning  to  see  Durham." 

"  I  am  at  your  service,  uncle,"  said  Julius,  quietly, 
although  his  eyes  flashed.    "  But  Bernard  ?  " 

"  We  can  talk  of  him  later.     Come !  " 

The  attentive  Beryl  helped  Sir  Simon  on  with  his 
overcoat  and  wrapped  a  muffler  round  his  throat.  Then 
he  went  out  to  select  a  special  four-wheeler  instead  of 
sending  the  page-boy.  When  he  was  absent,  Mrs.  Gil- 
roy  appeared  in  the  hall  where  Sir  Simon  waited,  and, 
seeing  he  was  alone,  came  close  to  him. 

"  Sir,"  she  said  quietly,  "  this  girl  Jane  ha5  described 
the  young  man's  looks  who  comes  to  see  her." 

"Well!  well!  well!" 

"  The  young  man — the  soldier,"  said  Mrs.  Gilroy, 
with  emphasis — "  has  come  only  since  we  arrived  here. 
Jane  met  him  a  week  before  our  arrival,  and  since  we 
have  been  in  the  house  this  soldier  has  visited  her 
often." 

"  What  has  all  this  to  do  with  me  ?  "  asked  Sir  Simon. 

"  Because  she  described  the  looks  of  the  soldier.  Miss 
Randolph  says  he  is  an  Imperial  Yeoman." 

Sir  Simon  started.  "  Has  Miss  Randolph  seen  him  ?  '^ 
he  asked. 

"  IN'o.  She  only  goes  by  what  I  said  this  morning 
to  you.  But  the  description.  Sir  Simon — "  Here  Mrs. 
Gilroy  sank  her  voice  to  a  whisper  and  looked  around — 
"  suits  Mr.  Gore." 

"  Bernard  !  Ah !  "  Sir  Simon  caught  hold  of  a  chair 
to  steady  himself.  "  Why — what — ^yes.  Julius  said  he 
was  an  Imperial  Yeoman  and — " 


Sir  Simon  Gore  37 

"  And  he  comes  here  to  see  the  housemaid,"  said  Mrs. 
Gilroj,  nodding. 

"  To  spy  out  the  land,"  cried  the  baronet,  in  a  rage. 
"  Do  you  think  that  my  grandson  would  condescend  to 
housemaids  ?  He  comes  to  learn  how  I  am  disposed — if 
I  am  ill.  The  money — the  money — all  self — self — 
self !  "  He  clenched  his  hand  as  the  front  door  opened. 
"  Good-by,  Mrs.  Gilroy,  if  you  see  this  Imperial  Yeo- 
man, say  I  am  making  a  new  will,"  and  with  a  sneer  Sir 
Simon  went  out. 

Mrs.  Gilroy  looked  up  to  heaven  and  caught  sight  of 
Lucy  listening  on  the  stairs. 


CHAPTEE   III 


THE   WILL 


Mr.  Durham  was  a  smart  joiing  lawyer  of  the  new 
school.  The  business  was  an  old  one  and  lucrative ;  but 
while  its  present  owner  was  still  under  thirty,  his  father 
died  and  he  was  left  solely  in  charge.  Wiseacres  pro- 
phesied that,  unguided  by  the  shrewdness  of  the  old 
solicitor,  Durham  junior,  would  lose  the  greater  part, 
if  not  all,  of  his  clients.  But  the  young  man  had  an 
old  head  on  young  shoulders.  He  was  clever  and  hard- 
worked,  and,  moreover,  possessed  a  great  amount  of 
tact.  The  result  was  that  he  not  only  retained  the  old 
clients  of  the  firm,  but  secured  new  ones,  and  under 
his  sway  the  business  was  more  flourishing  than  ever. 
Also  Mark  Durham  did  not  neglect  social  duties,  and 
by  his  charm  of  manner,  backed  by  undeniable  business 
qualities,  he  managed  to  pick  up  many  wealthy  clients 
while  enjoying  himself.  He  always  had  an  eye  to  the 
main  chance,  and  mingled  business  judiciously  with 
sober  pleasures. 

The  office  of  Durham  &  Son — the  firm  still  retained 
the  old  title  although  the  son  alone  owned  the  business 
— was  near  Chancery  Lane,  a  large,  antique  house 
which  had  been  the  residence  of  a  noble  during  the 
reign  of  tlie  Georges.  The  rooms  were  nobly  propor- 
tioned, their  ceilings  painted  and  decorated,  and  at- 
tached to  the  railings  which  guarded  the  front  of  the 
house  could  still  be  seen  the  extinguishers  into  which 
servants  had  thrust  torches  in  the  times  they  lighted 


The  Will  39 


belles  and  beaux  to  splendid  sedan  chairs.  A  plate  on 
the  front  intimated  that  a  famous  author  had  lived  and 
died  within  the  walls;  so  Durham  &  Son  were  housed 
in  a  way  not  unbecoming  to  the  dignity  of  the  finn. 
Mr.  Durham's  owm  room  overlooked  a  large  square  filled 
with  ancient  trees,and  was  both  well-furnished  and  well- 
lighted.  Into  this  Sir  Simon  and  his  nephew  were 
ushered,  and  here  they  were  greeted  by  the  young 
lawyer. 

"  I  hope  I  see  you  well,  Sir  Simon  ? "  said  Durham, 
shaking  hands.  He  was  a  smart,  well-dressed,  hand- 
some young  fellow  with  an  up-to-date  air,  and  formed  a 
striking  contrast  to  the  baronet  in  his  antique  garb.  As 
the  solicitor  spoke  he  cast  a  side  glance  at  Beryl,  whom 
he  knew  slightly,  and  he  mentally  wondered  why  the 
old  man  had  brought  him  along.  Sir  Simon  had  never 
spoken  very  well  of  Julius,  but  then  he  rarely  said  a 
good  word  of  anyone. 

"  I  am  as  well  as  can  be  expected,"  said  Sir  Simon, 
grumpily,  taking  his  seat  near  the  table,  which  was  cov- 
ered with  books,  and  papers,  and  briefs,  and  red  tape, 
and  all  the  paraphernalia  of  legal  affairs.  "  About  that 
will  of  mine — " 

"  Yes  ? "  inquired  Durham,  sitting,  with  another 
glance  at  Beryl,  and  still  more  perplexed  as  to  the 
baronet's  motive  for  bringing  the  youag  man,  "  I  have 
had  it  drawn  out  in  accordance  with  your  instructions. 
It  is  ready  for  signing." 

"  Read  it." 

"  In  the  presence  of — "  Durham  indicated  Beryl 
in  a  puzzled  way. 

^'  I  can  go,  uncle,  if  you  wish,"  said  Julius,  hastily, 
and  rose. 


40  The  Red  Windmv 

"  Sit  down !  "  commanded  the  old  man.  "  You  are 
interested  in  the  will." 

"  All  the  more  reason  I  should  not  hear  it  read,"  said 
Julius,  still  on  his  feet. 

Sir  Simon  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  turned  his  hack 
on  his  too  particular  nephew.  "  Get  the  will,  Durham, 
and  read  it." 

It  was  not  the  lawyer's  business  to  argue  in  this 
especial  instance,  so  he  speedily  summoned  a  clerk. 
The  will  was  brought,  carefully  engrossed  on  parch- 
ment, and  Durham  rustled  the  great  sheets  as  he  re- 
sumed his  seat.  "  You  wish  me  to  read  it  all  ?  "  he 
asked  hesitatingly. 

Sir  Simon  nodded,  and,  leaning  his  chin  on  the  knob 
of  his  cane,  disposed  himself  to  listen.  Beryl  could  not 
suppress  an  uneasy  movement,  which  did  not  escape  his 
imcle's  notice,  and  he  smiled  in  a  grim  way.  Durham, 
without  further  preamble,  read  the  contents  of  the  will, 
clearly  and  deliberately,  without  as  much  as  a  glance 
in  the  direction  of  the  person  interested.  This  was 
Julius,  and  he  grew  pale  with  pleasure  as  the  lawyer 
proceeded. 

The  will  provided  legacies  for  old  servants,  but  no 
mention  w-as  made  of  Mrs.  Gilroy,  a  fact  which  Beryl 
noted  and  secretly  wondered  at.  Various  bequests  were 
made  to  former  friends,  and  arrangements  set  forth  as 
to  the  administration  of  the  estate.  The  bulk  of  the 
f)roperty  was  left  to  Julius  Beryl  on  condition  that  he 
married  Lucy  Randolph,  for  w^hom  otherwise  no  pro- 
^^sion  was  made.  The  name  of  Bernard  Gore  was  left 
out  altogether.  When  Durham  ended  he  laid  down  the 
will  with  a  rather  regretful  air,  and  discreetly  stared  at 
the  fire.    He  liked  young  Gore  and  did  not  care  for  the 


The  Will  4l\ 


architect.  Therefore  he  was  annoyed  that  the  latter 
should  benefit  to  the  exchision  of  the  former. 

"  Good !  "  said  Sir  Simon,  who  had  followed  the  read- 
ing with  close  attention.  "  Well  ? "  he  asked  his 
nephew. 

Beryl  stammered.  "  I  hardly  know  how  to  thank 
you.     I  am  not  worthy — " 

"  There — there — there !  "  said  the  old  man  tartly. 
"  We  understand  all  that.  Can  you  suggest  any  altera- 
tion?" 

"  No,  uncle.     The  will  is  perfect," 

"  What  do  you  think,  Durham  ?  "  said  Gore,  mth  a 
dry  chuckle. 

"  I  think,"  said  the  lawyer,  his  eyes  still  on  the  fire, 
"  that  some  provision  should  be  made  for  your  grand- 
son. He  has  been  taught  to  consider  himself  your  heir, 
and  has  been  brought  up  in  that  expectation.  It  is  hard 
that,  at  his  age,  he  should  be  thrown  on  the  w^orld 
for—" 

"  For  disobedience,"  put  in  Beryl,  meekly. 

Sir  Simon  chuckled  again.  "  Yes,  for  disobedience. 
You  are  not  aware,  Durham,  that  Bernard  wants  to 
marry  a  girl  who  has  no  name  and  no  parents,  and  no 
money — the  companion  of  a  crabbed  old  cat  called  Miss 
Plantagenet." 

"  I  know,"  said  the  young  lawyer,  nodding.  "  She 
is  the  aunt  of  Lord  Conniston,  who  told  me  about  the 
matter." 

"  I  thought  Lord  Conniston  was  in  America,"  said 
Julius,  sharply. 

'*  I  saw  him  before  he  went  to  America,"  retorted  the 
solicitor,  who  did  not  intend  to  tell  Beryl  that  Conniston 


42  The  Red  Window 

had  been  in  his  office  on  the  previous  day.  "  Why  do 
you  say  that  ?    Do  you  know  him  ?  " 

"  I  know  that  he  has  a  castle  near  my  uncle's  place." 

"  Cove  Castle,"  snapped  Sir  Simon.  "  All  the 
county  knows  that.  But  he  never  comes  near  the  place. 
Did  you  meet  Lord  Conniston  at  Miss  Plantagenet's, 
JuHus?" 

"  I  have  never  met  him  at  all,"  rejoined  the  meek 
young  man  stiffly,  "  and  I  have  been  to  IVIiss  Plantag- 
enet's  only  in  the  company  of  Bernard." 

"  Aha !  "  chuckled  Sir  Simon.  "  You  did  not  fall  in 
love  with  that  girl  ?  " 

"  1^0,  uncle.  Of  course  I  am  engaged  to  IVIiss  Ran- 
dolph." 

"  You  can  call  her  '  Lucy  '  to  a  near  relative  like  my- 
self," said  the  baronet,  dryly.  "  Do  you  know  Miss 
Malleson,  Durham  ?  " 

"  1^0.     I  have  not  that  pleasure." 

"  But  no  doubt  Bernard  has  told  you  about  her." 

Durham  shook  his  head.  "  I  have  not  seen  Gore  for 
months." 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  He  inherits  a  little  money  from  his 
father ;  and  you — " 

"  Yes !  I  quite  understand.  I  have  charge  of  that 
money.  Gore  came  a  few  months  ago,  and  I  gave  him 
fifty  pounds  or  so.  That  was  after  he  quarrelled  with 
you.  Sir  Sunon.     Since  then  I  have  not  seen  him." 

"  Then  he  does  not  know  that  I  am  in  Crimea 
Square." 

"  ]^ot  that  I  know  of.  Certainly  not  from  me.  Is 
he  in  town  ?  " 

It  was  Beryl  who  answered  this.  "  Bernard  has  en- 
listed as  an  Imperial  Yeoman,"  said  he. 


The  Will  43 


"  Then  I  think  the  more  of  him,"  said  Durham 
quickly.  ' '  Every  man  who  can,  should  go  to  the 
Front." 

"  Why  don't  you  go  yourself,  Durham  ?  " 

"  If  I  had  not  my  business  to  look  after  I  certainly 
should,"  replied  the  lawyer.  "  But  regarding  Mr.  Gore. 
Will  you  make  any  provision  for  him,  Sir  Simon  ?  " 

"  I  can't  say.  He  deserves  nothing.  I  leave  it  to 
Julius." 

"  Should  the  money  come  into  my  possession  soon," 
said  Julius,  virtuously,  "  a  thing  I  do  not  wish,  since  it 
means  your  death,  dear  uncle,  I  should  certainly  allow 
Bernard  two  hundred  a  year." 

"  Out  of  ten  thousand,"  put  in  Durham.  "  How  good 
of  you !  " 

"  He  deserves  no  more  for  his  disobedience  to  his 
benefactor." 

Sir  Simon  chuckled  yet  again.  ''  I  am  quite  of 
Julius's  opinion,"  he  declared.  "  Bernard  has  behaved 
shamefully.  I  wanted  him  to  marry  a  Miss  Perry,  who 
is  rich." 

"  Why  can't  you  let  him  marry  the  woman  he 
loves  ?  "  said  Durham,  with  some  heat.  "  They  can  live 
on  ten  thousand  a  year  and  be  happy.  What  is  the  use 
of  getting  more  money  than  is  needed?  Besides,  from 
what  I  hear,  this  Miss  Malleson  is  a  charming  girl." 

"  With  no  name  and  no  position,"  said  Sir  Simon, 
"  a  mere  paid  companion.  I  don't  want  my  grandson  to 
make  such  a  bad  match.  If  he  docs,  he  must  take  the 
consequences.    And  he  will — " 

"  Certainly  he  will,"  said  Beryl,  anxious  about  the 
signing  of  the  will.  "  He  has  been  hard-hearted  for 
months,  and  shows  no  signs  of  giving  in.     Since  I  am 


44  The  Red  JVifidow 

to  inherit  the  money  I  will  allow  Bornard  two  hundred 
a  year,  or  such  sum  as  Sir  Simon  thinks  fit." 

"  Two  hundred  is  quite  enough,"  said  the  baronet. 
Mr.  Durham,  we  will  see  now  about  signing  this  will." 

"  Can  I  not  persuade  you  to — " 

"  No !  You  can't  persuade  me  to  do  anything  but 
what  I  have  done.  I  am  sure  Julius  here  will  make  a 
better  use  of  the  money  than  Bernard  will.  Won't  you, 
Julius?" 

"I  hope  so,"  replied  Beryl,  rising;  "but  I  trust  it 
"will  be  many  a  long  day  before  I  inherit  the  money, 
dear  uncle." 

"  Make  your  mind  easy,"  said  Sir  Simon,  dryly.  "  I 
intend  to  live  for  many  a  year  yet." 

"  I  think  I  had  better  go  now,"  observed  Julius, 
rising. 

"  Won't  you  stop  and  see  the  will  signed  ?  " 

"  'No,  uncle.  I  think  it  is  better,  as  I  inherit,  that  I 
should  be  out  of  the  room.  Who  knows  but  what  Ber- 
nard might  say,  did  I  remain,  that  I  exercised  undue 
influence  ?  " 

"  ]SI"ot  while  I  am  present,"  said  Durham,  touching  a 
bell. 

"  All  the  same  I  had  better  go,"  insisted  the  young 
man.     "  Uncle  ?  " 

"  Please  yourself,"  replied  Gore.  "  You  can  go  if 
you  like.  I  shall  see  you  on  Friday  when  you  come  for 
Lucy." 

"  To  take  her  to  the  Curtain  Theatre.  Yes !  But  T 
trust  I  will  see  you  before  then,  uncle."  And  here,  as 
a  clerk  entered  the  room  and  was  apparently,  wdth 
Durham,  about  to  witness  the  will,  Julius  departed.  He 
chuckled  to  himself  when  he  was  outside,  thinking  of 


The  mil  45 


his  good  luck.  But  at  the  door  his  face  altered.  "  He 
might  change  his  mind,"  thought  Beryl.  "  There's  no 
reliance  to  be  placed  on  him.  I  wish — "  he  opened  and 
shut  his  fist ;  "  but  he  won't  die  for  a  long  time." 

While  Julius  was  indulging  in  these  thoughts,  Sir 
Simon  had  taken  up  the  will  to  glance  over  it.  He  also 
requested  Durham  to  send  the  clerk  away  for  a  few 
moments.  Bather  surprised,  the  lawyer  did  so,  thinking 
the  old  man  changeable.  When  alone  with  his  legal 
adviser  the  baronet  walked  to  the  fire  and  thrust  the 
will  into  it.  Durham  could  not  forbear  an  ejaculation, 
of  surprise,  "  What's  that  for?  " 

"  To  punish  Julius,"  said  Sir  Simon,  placidly  re- 
turning to  his  seat,  as  though  he  had  done  nothing  out 
of  the  way.  "  He  is  a  mean  sneak.  He  told  me  about 
Bernard  being  in  love  with  that  girl  so  as  to  create 
trouble." 

"  But  you  don't  approve  of  the  match  ?  " 

"  JSTo,  I  certainly  do  not,  and  I  daresay  that  when 
I  insisted  on  Bernard  marrying  Miss  Perry  that  the 
truth  would  have  come  out.  All  the  same  it  was  none 
of  Beryl's  business  to  make  mischief.  Besides,  he  is 
a  sly  creature,  and  if  I  made  the  will  in  his  favor,  who 
knows  but  what  he  might  not  contrive  to  get  me  out  of 
the  way  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Durham,  thoughtfully,  but  well  pleased 
for  Bernard's  sake  that  the  will  had  been  destroyed. 
"  I  don't  think  he  has  courage  to  do  that.  Besides, 
people  don't  murder  nowadays." 

"  Don't  they  ?  "  said  Sir  Simon ;  "  look  in  the  news- 
papers." 

"  I  mean  that  what  you  think  Julius  might  do  is 


46  The  Red  IVtndow 

worthy  of  a  novel.  I  don't  fancy  novels  are  true  to 
life." 

"  Anything  Julius  did  would  be  just  like  a  novel.  I 
tell  you,  Durham,  he  is  a  villain  of  the  worst;  I  don't 
trust  him.  I  have  led  him  on  to  think  that  the  will 
has  been  made  in  his  favor;  and  when  he  learns  the 
truth  he  will  be  punished  for  his  greed." 

"But,  Sir  Simon,"  argued  the  lawyer,  "by  letting 
him  think  the  will  is  made  in  his  favor,  you  have  placed 
him  in  the  very  position  which,  according  to  you,  might 
lead  to  his  attempt  to  murder." 

"I'll  take  care  of  myself,"  said  the  old  man,  some- 
what inconsistently,  for  certainly  he  was  acting  differ- 
ently to  what  he  said.  "By  the  way,  you  have  the 
other  will?" 

"Yes!  It  leaves  everything  to  Bernard  save  the 
legacies,  which  remain  much  the  same.  Of  course,  in 
the  first  will  is  mentioned  an  annuity  to  Mrs.  Gilroy." 

"Hum,  yes.  I  left  her  out  of  the  new  will.  The 
fact  is,  I  don't  trust  Mrs.  Gilroy.  She's  too  friendly 
with  Julius  for  my  taste." 

"I  understood  her  to  be  on  the  side  of  Bernard." 

"Oh,  she's  on  whatever  side  suits  her,"  said  Sir 
Simon,  testily.  "However,  let  the  first  vfiW  stand. 
She's  a  poor  thing  and  has  had  a  hard  life.  I  have 
every  right  to  leave  hor  something  to  live  on." 

"Why?"  asked  Durham,  bluntly.  He  found  Mrs. 
Gilroy  something  of  a  mystery,  and  did  not  know  what 
was  the  bond  between  her  and  Sir  Simon. 

"Xever  you  mind.  I  have  my  reasons,  so  let  things 
remain  as  they  are.  Bernard  can  marry  Miss  Malle- 
son  when  I  am  dead  if  he  chooses." 

"He  thinks  he  has  been  disinherited?" 


The  mil  47 


"Yes!  I  told  him  so.  The  truth  will  come  as  a  pleas- 
ant surprise." 

"Won't  you  take  him  back  into  favor  and  tell  him?" 
urged  Durham. 

No!  not  at  present.  If  we  met,  there  would  only 
be  more  trouble.  He  has  a  temper  inherited  from  his 
Italian  mother,  and  I  have  a  temper  also.  He  behaved 
very  rudely  to  me,  and  it's  just  as  well  he  should 
suffer  a  little.  But  I  don't  want  him  to  go  to  the 
war.     He  must  be  bought  out." 

"I  fear  Bernard  is  not  the  man  to  be  bought  out." 

"Oh,  I  know  he  is  brave  enough,  and  I  suppose  being 
bought  out  at  the  eleventh  hour  when  war  is  on  is 
not  heroic.  All  the  same,  I  don't  want  him  to  be 
shot." 

"You  must  leave  things  to  chance,"  said  Durham 
decidedly.  "There  is  only  one  way  in  which  you  can 
make  him  give  up  his  soldiering." 

"What's  that?" 

"Make  friends  with  him,  and  ask  him  to  wait  till 
you  die." 

"No,  no,  no!"  said  Sir  Simon,  irritably.  "He  must 
keep  away  from  me  for  a  time.  After  all,  he  is  the 
son  of  his  father,  and,  bad  as  Walter  was,  I  loved  him 
for  his  mother's  sake.    As  for  the  Italian  woman — " 

"Mrs.  Gore!    She  is  dead." 

"I  know  she  is.  But  her  brother  Guiseppe  is  alive, 
and  a  scoundrel  he  is.  The  other  day  he  came  to  the 
Hall  and  tried  to  force  his  way  into  the  house.  A 
gambler,  a  rogue,  Durham — that's  what  Guiseppe  is." 

"What  is  his  other  name?" 

"Tolomeo!     He  comes  from  Siena." 


48  The  Red  JJ^mdow 


"I  understood  Mrs.  Gore — ^your  son's  wife — came 
from  Florence." 

"So  she  said.  She  declared  she  was  the  member  of 
a  decayed  Florentine  family.  But  afterwards  I  learnd 
from  Guiseppe  that  the  Tolomeo  nobles  are  Sicnese — 
and  a  bad  lot  they  are.  He  is  a  musician,  I  believe — 
a  plausible  scamp.  I  hope  he  has  not  got  hold  of 
Bernard." 

"Bernard  is  his  nephew." 

"I  know  that,"  snapped  the  old  man.  "All  the  same, 
the  uncle  is  sadly  in  want  of  money,  and  would  exer- 
cise an  undue  influence  over  Bernard." 

"I  don't  think  Gore  is  the  man  to  be  controlled,"  said 
Durham,  sagely. 

"You  don't  know.  He  is  young  after  all.  But 
you  know,  by  the  will,  I  have  put  it  out  of  Bernard's 
power  to  assist  Tolomeo.  If  he  gives  him  as  much 
as  a  shilling  the  money  is  lost  to  him  and  goes  to 
Lucy." 

"That  is  rather  a  hard  provision,"  said  Durham, 
after  a  pause. 

"I  do  it  for  the  boy's  good,"  replied  Gore,  rising; 
"but  I  must  get  home  now.  By  the  way,  about  that 
lease,"  and  the  two  began  to  talk  of  matters  connected 
with  the  estate. 

Sir  Simon  after  this  refused  to  discuss  his  erring 
grandson,  but  Durham,  who  was  friendly  to  Bernard, 
insisted  on  recurring  to  the  forbidden  subject.  How- 
ever it  w^as  just  when  the  old  man  was  going  that  he 
reverted  to  the  bone  of  contention,  "I  wish  you  would 
let  me  tell  Bernard  that  you  are  well  disposed  toward 
him." 


The  mil  49 


"Ah!  you  plead  for  the  scamp/'  said  Sir  Simon, 
angrily. 

"Well,  I  was  at  Eton  with  him,  you  know,  and  we 
are  great  friends.  If  he  is  an  Imperial  Yeoman  there 
will  be  no  difficulty  in  seeing  him." 

"Leave  matters  as  they  are.  I  have  ascertained  that 
he  won't  go  to  the  war  for  six  weeks.  Julius  found  that 
out  for  me,  so  wait  till  he  is  on  the  eve  of  sailing. 
Then  we'll  see.  If  nothing  else  will  keep  him  at  home, 
I'll  make  it  up.  But  I  think  a  little  hardship  will  do 
him  good.     He  behaved  very  badly." 

"  Bernard  is  naturally  hot  tempered." 

"So  am  I.  Therefore,  let  us  keep  apart  for  a  time. 
Who  knows  Avhat  would  happen  did  we  meet.  ISTo, 
Durham,  let  Bernard  think  that  I  am  still  angry.  If 
Lucy  sets  a  lamp  in  the  Red  Window  that's  a  different 
thing.     I  shan't  interfere  with  her  romance." 

"The  Eed  Window.     What's  that?" 

"A  silly  legend  of  the  Gore  family  of  which  you 
know  nothing.  I  have  no  time  to  repeat  rubbish.  I'll 
come  and  see  you  again  about  that  lease,  Durham. 
Meanwhile,  should  Bernard  be  hard  up,  help  him  out 
of  your  own  pocket.    I'll  make  it  up  to  you." 

"He  wouldn't  accept  alms.  Besides,  he  has  enough 
to  go  on  with.  I  have  two  hundred  of  his  money  in 
hand." 

"Then  I  have  nothing  more  to  say.  I'm  sorry  the 
fellow  isn't  starving.  His  conduct  to  me  was  shame- 
ful."    And  Sir  Simon  went  grumbling  home. 

"All  the  same,  I'll  see  Bernard,"  thought  Durham, 
returning  to  his  office. 


CriAPTER   IV 


A   STRANGE   ADVENTURE 


Conniston  and  Bernard  Gore  were  as  mucli  as  pos- 
sil>le  in  one  another's  company  during  the  stay  of  the 
former  in  town.  Thinking  he  wonld  go  out  to  the 
Cape  sooner  than  he  did,  Bernard  had  impulsively  got 
rid  of  his  civilian  clothes,  and  therefore  had  to  keep 
constantly  to  his  uniform.  But  in  those  days  everyone 
was  in  khaki,  as  the  war  fever  was  in  the  air,  so 
amongst  the  throng  he  passed  comparatively  unnoticed. 
At  all  events  he  managed  to  keep  away  from  the  fash- 
ionable world,  and  therefore  saw  neither  Sir  Simon  nor 
Lucy.  Beyond  the  fact  that  his  grandfather  was  in 
town  Bernard  knew  nothing,  and  was  ignorant  that  the 
old  man  had  taken  up  his  abode  in  Crimea  Square.  So 
he  told  Durham  when  the  lawyer  questioned  him. 

The  three  old  schoolfellows  came  together  at  Dui*- 
ham's  houso,  which  was  situated  on  Camden  Hill. 
Faithful  to  his  intention  to  see  Gore,  the  lawyer  had 
sent  a  note  asking  Conniston  where  Bernard  was  to  be 
found.  Already  Conniston  had  told  Durham  of  his 
chance  meeting  in  the  Park,  so  when  he  received  Dur- 
ham's letter  he  insisted  on  taking  Gore  to  dinner  at  the 
lawyer's  house.  Bernard  was  only  too  glad,  and  the 
three  had  a  long  talk  over  old  times.  The  dinner  was 
excellent,  the  wine  was  good,  and  although  the  young 
man's  housekeeper  was  rather  surprised  that  her  pre- 
cise master  should  dine  with  a  couple  of  soldiers,  she 


A  Strange  Adventure  51 

did  her  best  to  make  them  comfortable.  When  the 
meal  was  ended  Durham  carried  off  his  guests  to  the 
library,  where  they  sat  around  a  sea-wood  fire  sipping 
coffee  and  smoking  the  excellent  cigars  of  their  host. 
Durham  alone  was  in  evening  dress,  as  Gore  kept  to 
khaki,  and  Conniston,  for  the  sake  of  company,  re- 
tained his  lancer  uniform.  Their  host  laughed  as  he 
contemplated  the  two. 

"I  feel  inclined  to  go  to  the  front  myself,"  said  he, 
handing  Gore  a  glass  of  kiimmel,  "but  the  business 
would  suffer." 

"Leave  it  in  charge  of  a  clerk,"  said  Conniston,  in 
his  hair-brained  way.  "You  have  no  ties  to  keep  you 
here.  Your  parents  are  dead — ^you  aren't  married, 
and—" 

"I  may  be  engaged  for  all  you  know." 
"Bosh!     There's  a  look  about  an  engaged  man  you 
can't  mistake.     Look  at  Bernard  there.     He  is—" 

"Pax!     Pax!"  cried  Gore,  laughing.     "Leave  mc 

alone,  Conniston.     But  are  you  really  engaged,  Mark?" 

"No,"  said  Mark,  rubbing  his  knees  rather  dismally. 

"I  should  like  to  be.     A  home-loving  man  like  myself 

needs  a  wife  to  smile  at  him  across  the  hearth." 

"And  just  now  you  talked  of  going  to  the  front," 
put  in  the  young  lord.  "You  don't  know  your  own 
mind.  But,  I  say,  this  is  jolly.  Back  I  go  to  barracks 
to-morrow  and  shall  remember  this  comfortable  room 
and  this  glimpse  of  civilized  life." 

"You  were  stupid  to  enlist,"  said  Durham,  sharply. 
"Had  you  come  to  me,  we  could  have  arranged  mat- 
ters better.  You  knew  I'd  see  you  through,  Conniston. 
I  have  ample  means," 

"I  don't  want  to  be  seen  through,"  said  Conniston, 


52  The  Red  Window 

wilfully.  "Besides,  it's  fun,  this  war.  I'm  erazv  to 
go,  and  now  that  Bernard's  coming  along  it  mil  be  like 
a  picnic." 

"Not  much,  I  fear,"  said  Bernard,  "if  all  the  tales 
we  hear  are  true." 

"Right,"  said  Durham.  "This  won't  be  the  military 
promenade  the  generality  of  people  suppose  it  will  be. 
The  Boers  are  obstinate." 

"So  are  we,'^  argued  Conniston;  "but  don't  let  us 
talk  shop.  We'll  get  heaps  of  that  at  the  Cape.  Mark, 
you  wanted  to  see  Bernard  about  some  business.  Shall 
I  leave  the  room?" 

"j!^o,  no!"  said  Gore,  hastily.  "Mark  can  say  what 
he  likes  about  my  business  before  you,  Conniston.  I 
have  nothing  to  conceal." 

"Xothing?"  asked  Durham,  looking  meaningly  at 
his  friend. 

Gore  allowed  an  expression  of  surprise  to  flit  across 
his  expressive  face.     "What  are  you  driving  at,  Mark?" 

"Well,"  said  Durham,  slowly,  "your  grandfather 
came  to  see  me  the  other  dav  on  business — " 

"I  can  guess  what  the  business  was,"  put  in  Bernard, 
bitterly,  and  thinking  that  a  new  will  had  been  made. 

The  lawyer  smiled.  "Quite  so.  But  don't  ask  me  to 
betray  the  secrets  of  my  client.  But  Sir  Simon  knew 
you  were  in  the  Imperial  Yeomanry,  Bernard.  lie 
learned  that  from  Beryl." 

"Who  is,  no  doubt,  spying  on  me.  It  is  thanks  to 
Julius  that  I  had  the  row  with  my  grandfather.    He — " 

"You  needn't  trouble  to  explain,"  interrupted  Dur- 
ham. "I  know.  Sir  Simon  explained.  But  he  also 
asked  me  if  you  knew  he  was  in  town." 

"I  told  Bernard,"  said  Conniston,  "and  you  told  me." 


A  Strange  Adventure  58 

"Yes.  But  does  Bernard  know  where  Sir  Simon  is 
stopping?" 

"No,"  said  Gore,  emphatically,  "I  don't." 

"j^either  do  I.     What  are  you  getting  at,  Mark?" 

"It's  a  queer  thing,"  went  on  Durham,  taking  no 
notice  of  Conniston's  question,  "but  afterwards — yes- 
terday, in  fact — Sir  Simon  wrote  saying  that  he 
heard  from  Mrs.  Gilroy  of  an  Imperial  Yeoman  who 
had  been  visiting  in  the  kitchen  of  Crimea  Square — " 

"What  about  Crimea  Square?"  asked  Gore,  quickly. 

"Your  grandfather  is  stopping  there — in  No.  32; 
old  Jefferies'  house." 

"Oh!  I  knew  nothing  of  that.     Go  on." 

"Sir  Simon,"  proceeded  the  lawyer,  looking  at  Gore, 
"stated  in  his  letter  that  the  description  of  the  soldier, 
as  given  by  the  maid,  applied  to  you,  Bernard." 

Gore  stared  and  looked  puzzled,  as  did  Conniston. 
"But  I  don't  quite  understand,"  said  the  former.  "Do 
you  mean  that  my  grandfather  thinks  that  I  have  been 
making  love  to  some  servant  in  Crimea  Square?" 

"In  No.  32.  Yes.  That  is  what  Sir  Simon's  letter 
intimated  to  me." 

The  other  men  looked  at  one  another  and  burst  out 
laughing.  "What  jolly  rubbish!"  said  Lord  Conniston. 
"Why,  Bernard  is  the  last  person  to  do  such  a  thing." 

"It's  all  very  well  to  laugh,"  said  Durham,  rather 
tartly,  "but  you  see,  Gore,  Sir  Simon  may  think  that 
you  went  to  the  kitchen,  not  to  make  love  to  the  maid, 
but  to  see  how  he  was  disposed  towards  you." 

"But,  Mark,  I  haven't  been  near  the  place." 

"Are  you  sure?"  asked  ]\[ark,  sharply. 

Bernard,  always  hot-tempered,  jumped  up.    "I  won't 


54  The  Red  Window 

bear  that  from  any  man,"  he  said.  "You  have  no 
right  to  doubt  my  word,  Durham." 

"Don't  fire  up  over  nothing,  Gore.  It  is  in  your 
own  interest  that  I  speak.  I  knew  well  enough  that 
you  wouldn't  make  love  to  this  housemaid  mentioned 
by  Sir  Simon — Jane  Eiordan  is  her  name.  But  I  fan- 
cied you  might  have  gone  to  see  if  your  grandfather — " 

"I  went  to  see  nothing,"  replied  Gore,  dropping 
back  into  his  chair  with  a  disgusted  air.  "I  don't 
sneak  round  in  that  way.  When  my  grandfather  kicked 
me  out  of  the  house,  I  said  good-bye  to  Alice  and  came 
to  London.  I  saw  you,  to  get  some  money,  and  after- 
wards I  enlisted.  I  never  knew  that  Sir  Simon  was  in 
town  till  Conniston  told  me.  I  never  knew  he  lived 
in  Crimea  Square  till  you  explained.  My  duties  have 
kept  me  hard  at  work  all  the  time.  And  even  if  they 
hadn't,"  said  the  young  man,  wrathfully,  "I  certainly 
wouldn't  go  making  love  to  servants  to  gain  informa- 
tion about  my  own  people." 

"Quite  so,"  said  Durham,  smoothly.     "Then  why — " 

"Drop  the  subject,  Mark." 

"Sit  down  and  be  quiet,  Bernard,"  said  Conniston, 
pulling  him  back  into  his  seat,  for  he  had  again  risen. 
"Mark  has  something  to  say." 

"If  you  vdll  let  me  say  it,"  said  Durham,  with  the 
air  of  a  man  severely  tried  by  a  recalcitrant  witness. 

"Go  on,  then,"  said  Bernard,  and  flung  liimsclf  into 
his  chair  in  a  rather  sullen  manner.  His  troubles  had 
worn  his  nerves  thin,  and  even  from  his  old  schoolfellow 
he  was  not  prepared  to  take  any  scolding.  All  the 
same,  he  secretly  saw  that  he  was  accusing  Durham  of 
taking  a  liberty  where  none  was  meant. 

"It's  this  way,"  said  the  lawyer,  when  Gore  was 


A  Strange  Adventure  55 

smoothed  down  for  the  time  being.  "We  know  that 
Beryl  hates  you." 

"He  wants  the  money." 

"I  know  that."  Durham  smiled  when  he  thought 
of  the  destroyed  will;  but  he  could  hardly  explain  his 
smile.  "Well,  it  is  strange  that  the  description  given 
by  the  maid  of  this  soldier — and  a  yeoman,  mind  you 
— should  be  like  you.     Have  you  a  double?" 

"Not  that  I  know  of." 

"Then  someone  is  impersonating  you  so  as  to  arouse 
the  w^rath  of  your  grandfather  against  you.  Sir  Simon 
is  a  proud  old  man,  and  the  idea  that  you  condescended 
to  flirt  with — " 

"But  I  didn't^  I  tell  you!"  cried  the  exasperated 
Gore. 

"ISTo.  We  know  that.  But  Sir  Simon,  judging  from 
his  letter,  thinks  so." 

"He  has  no  right  to  do  that.  My  conduct  never 
gave  him  any  reason  to  think  I  would  sink  so  low." 

"My  dear  chap,"  said  Conniston,  with  the  air  of  a 
Socrates,  "when  anyone  has  his  monkey  up,  he  Avill  be- 
lieve anything." 

"Conniston  is  quite  right,"  said  the  lawyer,  "though 
he  expresses  himself  with  his  usual  elegance.  Sir  Si- 
mon, with  Beryl  at  his  elbow,  is  inclined  to  believe  the 
worst  of  you,  Bernard,  and  probably  thinks  you  have 
deteriorated  sufficiently  to  permit  your  making  use  of 
even  so  humble  an  instrument  as  a  housemaid." 

"Bah!"  said  Gore,  in  a  rage.  "What  right  has  he 
to—" 

"Don't  be  so  furious,  my  dear  man.  I  am  ad\4sing 
you  for  your  own  good,  and  not  charging  seven-and- 
six  either." 


5Q  The  Red  Window 

This  made  Bernard  laugh.  "But  it  does  make  a  fel- 
low furious  to  hear  his  nearest — I  won't  say  dearest — 
think  so  badly  of  one." 

"One's  relatives  always  think  the  worst,"  said  Con- 
niston,  oracularly.  "Miss  Plantagenet  thinks  so  badly 
of  me  that  I'll  never  see  that  five  thousand  a  year. 
Miss  Malleson  will  have  it,  and  you,  Bernard,  will  live 
on  it.  Pax!  PaxP^  for  Bernard  gave  him  a  punch  on 
the  shoulder. 

"Dick,  you're  a  silly  ass!    Go  on,  Durham." 

"Well,"  said  Durham,  beginning  in  his  invariable 
manner,  "I  fancy  that  Beryl  is  up  to  some  trick.  You 
have  not  been  near  the  place;  so  someone  made  up  to 
impersonate  you  is  sneaking  round.  Of  course,  there 
is  the  other  alternative,  Mrs.  Gilroy  may  be  telling  a 
lie!" 

"She  wouldn't,"  rejoined  Gore,  quickly.  "She  is 
on  my  side." 

"So  you  told  me.  But  your  grandfather  thinks  other- 
vnso.    We  were  talking  about  you  the  other  day." 

"And  Sir  Simon  said  no  good  of  me,"  was  Bernard's 
remark.     "But  what  is  to  be  done?" 

"Only  one  thing.  Go  and  see  your  grandfather  and 
have  the  matter  sifted.  If  Mrs.  Gilroy  is  lying  you 
can  make  her  prove  the  truth.  If  she  tells  the  truth, 
you  can  see  if  Beryl  has  a  hand  in  the  matter." 

Gore  rose  and  began  to  pace  the  room.  "I  should 
like  to  see  my  grandfather,"  said  he^  "as  I  want  to 
apologise  for  my  behavior.  But  I  am  afraid  if  we 
come  together  there  will  be  trouble." 

"I  daresay — if  Beryl  is  at  his  elbow.  Therefore,  I 
do  not  advise  you  to  call  at  Crimea  Square.    But  when 


A  Strange  Adventure  57 

Sir  Simon  goes  down  to  the  Hall  again,  you  can  make  it 
your  business  to  see  him  and  set  matters  right." 

"I  am  afraid  that  is  impossible,"  said  Gore,  gloomily, 
"unless  I  give  up  Alice,  and  that  I  won't  do."  He 
struck  the  table  hard. 

"Don't  spoil  the  furniture,  Bernard,"  said  Connis- 
ton,  lighting  a  cigarette.  "You  do  what  Mark  says. 
Go  down  to  Hurseton." 

"I  don't  want  to  be  known  in  this  kit,  and  I  have 
parted  with  my  plain  clothes,"  objected  the  other. 

"You  always  were  an  impulsive  beast,"  said  Con- 
niston,  with  the  candour  of  a  long  friendship.  "Well, 
then" — he  rose  and  crossed  to  the  writing-table — "I'll 
scrawl  a  note  to  Mrs.  Moon  telling  her  to  put  you  up 
at  Cove  Castle.  She  can  hold  her  tongue,  and  the 
castle  is  in  so  out-of-the-way  a  locality  that  no  one 
will  spot  you  there.  You  can  then  walk  across  to 
Hurseton — it's  only  ten  miles — and  see  if  that  Red 
Window  is  alight." 

"Your  grandfather  said  something  about  the  Red 
Window,"  said  Durham,  while  Conniston  scribbled  the 
note  in  a  kind  of  print,  since  Mrs.  Moon  was  not  par- 
ticularly well  educated.     "What  is  it?" 

Bernard  explained  the  idea  of  Lucy,  and  how  she 
was  playing  the  part  of  his  friend,  to  let  him  know  how 
matters  stood.  "I  am  always  startled  by  a  red  window 
now,"  he  said,  laughing  at  his  own  folly,  "as  it  means 
so  much  to  me.  The  other  night  I  saw  a  chemist's  sign 
and  it  made  me  sit  up." 

"It's  an  absurdly  romantic  idea,"  said  Durham,  with 
all  the  scorn  of  a  lawyer  for  the  quaint.  "Why  re- 
vive an  old  legendary  idea  when  a  simple  letter — " 

"Mrs.  Gih'oy  and  Julius  would  stop  any  letters,"  said 


58  The  Red  Window 

Bernard,  "that  is,  if  she  is  hostile  to  me,  which  she 
may  be.     I  am  not  sure  of  her  attitude." 

"What  is  the  legend  of  the  Ked  Window?"  asked 
Durham. 

"It's  too  long  a  story  to  tell,"  said  Bernard,  glanc- 
ing at  the  clock,  which  pointed  to  a  quarter  to  ten, 
"and  I'm  due  at  barracks.  I'll  tell  you  about  it  on 
another  occasion.     Meantime — " 

"Meantime,"  said  Durham,  rising,  "I  advise  you  to 
drop  red  windows  and  legends  and  go  down  to  see  Sir 
Simon  boldly.  A  short  interview  will  put  everything 
right." 

"And  might  put  everything  wrong." 

"No,"  said  Durham,  earnestly,  "believe  me,  your 
grandfather  will  be  more  easy  to  deal  with  than  you 
think.  I  am  his  solicitor  and  I  dare  not  say  much,  but 
I  advise  you  to  see  him  as  soon  as  you  can.  The  sooner 
the  better,  since  Bervl  is  a  dangerous  enemv  to  have." 

"Well,  Lucy  is  my  friend." 

"And  Mrs.  Gilroy  your  enemy  along  with  Beryl." 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  began  Gore,  when  Connis- 
ton  lounged  towards  him  with  a  letter. 

"You  give  that  to  Mrs.  Moon,"  said  he,  "and  she 
will  put  you  up  and  hold  her  tongue  and  make  tilings 
pleasant.  But  don't  say  I  am  in  town,  as  I  have  not 
dated  the  letter." 

"Does  she  think  you  are  in  America?"  asked  Ber- 
nard, putting  the  letter  into  his  pocket,  and  promising 
to  use  it  should  occasion  offer. 

"Yes.  She  thinks  a  great  deal  of  the  West  family," 
said  Conniston,  taking  another  glass  of  kiimmel,  "and 
she  would  howl  if  she  heard  I  was  a  mere  private.  And 
I  don't  know  but  what  she  may  not  know.    I  saw  that 


A  Strange  Adventure  59 

young  brute  of  a  Judas  when  I  left  you  the  other  day, 
Bernard." 

"Judas?"  echoed  Durham,  who  was  unlocking  the 
spirit-stand. 

Conniston  sat  down  and  stretched  out  his  legs.  "He's 
Mrs.  Moon's  grandson.  Jerry  Moon  is  his  name — but 
he's  such  a  young  scoundrel  that  I  call  him  Judas  as 
more  appropriate.  I  got  him  a  place  with  Taberley, 
the  tobacconist,  but  he  took  money  or  something  and 
was  kicked  out.  The  other  day  when  I  met  him  he 
was  selling  matches.  I  gave  him  half  a  sovereign  to 
go  back  to  his  grandmother,  so  by  this  time  I  expect 
he's  at  Cove  Castle  telling  her  lies.  I  instructed  him 
to  hold  his  tongue  about  my  soldiering." 

"Why  didn't  you  send  him  to  me?"  said  Mark.  "I 
would  have  frightened  him,  and  made  him  hold  his 
tongue." 

"If  you  could  frighten  Judas  you  could  frighten  his 
father,  the  Old  'Un  down  below,"  said  Conniston, 
laughing.  "He's  what  the  Artful  Dodger  would  call  a 
young  Out-and-Outer;  a  kind  of  Jack  Sheppard  in  grain. 
He'll  come  your  way  yet,  Mark,  passing  by  on  his 
journey  to  the  gallows.  He's  only  thirteen,  but  a  born 
criminal.  He'll  hold  his  tongue  about  me  so  long  as  it 
suits  him,  and  sell  me  to  make  a  sixpence.  Oh,  he's 
a  delightful  young  scamp,  I  promise  you!" 

All  this  aimless  chatter  made  Bernard  rather  im- 
patient. "I  must  cut  along,"  he  said;  "it's  rather 
foggy  and  it  will  take  me  a  long  time  to  fetch  my 
barracks.  No,  thank  you,  Mark,  I  don't  want  any- 
thing to  drink.  Give  me  a  couple  of  those  cigarettes, 
Conniston.     Good  night." 


60  The  Red  Window 

"Won't  yon  stop  the  niglit?"  said  Dtirham,  hos- 
pitably.    "Conniston  is  staying." 

"He's  on  furlough  and  I'm  not,"  said  Bernard,  who 
was  now  putting  on  his  slouch  hat  in  the  hall.  "Good 
night,  Conniston.     Good  night,  Durham." 

"You'll  think  over  what  I  told  you,"  said  the  lawyer, 
opening  the  door  himself  and  looking  outside.  "I  say, 
what  a  fog!     Stop  here,  Bernard." 

"iSTo!  ISTo!  Thanks  all  the  same."  Gore  stepped 
out  into  the  white  mist,  buttoning  his  coat.  "Give  me 
a  light.  There!  Go  back  and  varn  with  Dick.  I'll 
come  and  see  you  again.     As  to  Sir  Simon — " 

"What  about  him?" 

"I'll  think  over  what  you  said.  If  possible  I'll  go 
down  and  stop  at  Cove  Castle,  and  see  Sir  Simon  at 
night.     By  the  way,  what's  the  time,  Durham?" 

The  lawyer  was  about  to  pull  out  his  watch  when 
Conniston  appeared  at  the  end  of  the  hall  in  high 
spirits.  "My  dear  friend,"  he  said  in  a  dramatic  man- 
ner, "it  is  the  twenty-third  of  October,  in  the  year 
of  our  Lord  one  thousand  nine  hundred  and — " 

"Bosh!"  interrupted  Bernard.     "The  time,  Mark?" 

"Just  ten  o'clock.     Good  night!" 

"Good  night,  and  keep  that  wild  creature  in  order. 
Conniston,  I'll  look  you  up  to-morrow." 

It  was  indeed  a  foggy  night.  Bernard  felt  as  though 
he  were  passing  through  wool,  and  the  air  was  bitterly 
cold.  However,  he  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets 
and  smoked  bravely  as  he  felt  his  way  do-\vn  the  hill. 
Hardly  had  he  issued  from  the  gate  when  he  felt  some- 
one clutch  his  coat.  Brave  as  Gore  was  he  started, 
for  in  this  fog  he  might  meet  with  all  manner  of  un- 
pleasant adventures.    However,  being  immediately  un-- 


A  Strange  Adventure  61 

der  a  lamp,  he  saw  that  a  small  boy  was  holding  on  to 
him.  A  pretty  lad  he  looked,  though  clothed  in  rags 
and  miserable  with  the  cold.  In  one  hand  he  held  a 
tray  of  matches  and  in  the  other  a  piece  of  bread.  His 
feet  were  bare  and  his  rags  scarcely  covered  him.  In 
a  child-like,  innocent  manner  he  looked  np  into  the 
face  of  the  tall  soldier.  ''Well,  boy,"  said  Bernard, 
feeling  for  sixpence,  "Are  you  granting  to  get  home?" 

"Ain't  got  no  home,"  said  the  boy,  hoarsely.  "I 
sleeps  in  a  barrel,  I  does,  when  'ard  up.  It's  you  as  the 
lady  wants  to  see." 

"The  lady!"  Bernard  looked  down  at  the  imp. 
"'What  do  you  mean?" 

"It's  this  way,  my  lord,"  said  the  boy,  looking  like 
a  cherub  of  innocence.  "The  lady,  she  says  to  me  that 
in  this  street  you'll  see,  before  twelve,  a  soldier  in  yel- 
ler  clothes.     Tell  him  to  f oiler  to  the  Red  AVinder." 

"What's  that?"  asked  Gore,  sharply,  and  quite  taken 
aback  by  hearing  these  words  on  the  lips  of  this  ragged 
brat.     "Where  did  you  see  the  lady,  boy?" 

"Down  Kensington  way,"  said  the  boy  jerking  his 
head  over  his  shoulder.  "She  savs,  'Tell  him  to  foller 
to  the  Red  Winder.'  Come  along!  "  and  he  darted  off 
in  the  fog. 

"But  you  must  explain,"  began  Bernard,  when  he 
stopped.  The  boy  had  disappeared  into  the  fog,  and 
wondering  how  he  came  to  be  in  possession  of  this  in- 
formation which  concerned  him^  Gore  walked  along 
feeling  his  way  by  the  brick  wall.  Perhaps  Lucy  had 
sent  the  message,  and  the  Red  Window  was  to  be  seen 
in  the  Crimea  Square  house.  Bernard  wished  to  ask 
the  boy  further  questions,  but  the  lad  had  vanished. 
In  much  perplexity  the  young  man  went  down  the  hill 


62  The  Red  Windoxv 

towards  Kensington  High  Street.  As  he  paused  at  the 
corner  wondering-  if  it  wonld  be  wise  to  go  to  the 
Square,  and  wondering  also  where  it  was,  the  boy  sud- 
denly appeared  again  at  his  elbow.  "Come  along  acrost 
the  road,"  he  growled,  and  vanished  again.  Then  Ber- 
nard got  lost  in  tlie  fog  till  the  boy  found  him  again. 
Bernard,  not  thinking  any  harm  could  come  of  the 
adventure,  as  he  had  ample  confidence  in  liis  right 
arm,  went  across  the  street.  The  boy  reappeared  and 
led  him  down  a  side  street.  Gore  tried  to  seize  the  boy 
and  to  detain  him  in  order  to  ask  questions,  but  the 
imp  kept  well  out  of  reach,  and  only  appeared  when 
he  thought  there  was  danger  of  the  tall  soldier  losing 
his  way.  In  this  manner  Bernard  was  led  down  the 
quiet  street,  'longside  a  high  wall  and  through  the 
heart  of  the  dense  fog.  lie  kept  his  eyes  open  for  any 
possible  assailant^  and  did  not  feel  the  least  afraid. 
All  the  same,  he  began  to  think  he  was  foolish  to  fol- 
low on  such  a  will-o'-the-wisp  errand.  But  that  the  boy 
had  mentioned  the  Bed  Window,  Bernard  would  have 
turned  on  his  heel.  As  it  was,  he  felt  curious  enough 
to  proceed.  Suddenly  the  boy — a  few  feet  ahead — 
led  him  into  a  vdde  space  which  was  densely  filled  with 
fog.  Here  his  guide  turned  to  the  right,  and  tlicn 
whistled.  When  Gore,  who  had  followed,  heard  that 
whistle  he  tightened  his  hold  on  his  stick.  The  boy 
had  vanished,  and  there  he  was  alone  in  the  heart  of 
the  fog.  No  one  appeared,  and  he  could  not  even  see 
his  guide.  Looking  overhead,  Bernard  suddenly  saw 
a  Red  Window  on  the  first  story  of  a  house.  The  house 
loomed  hugely  through  the  fog  and  was  in  some  meas- 
ure revealed  by  the  light  of  a  street  lamp  which  threw 
a  dull  glinmier  on  to  steps  ascending  to  the  door.   There 


A  Strange  Adventure  63 

was  a  light  behind  the  glass  over  the  door,  but  the 
young  man  did  not  look  at  that.  He  was  staring  at 
the  window  in  the  first  storey,  which  showed  a  fiery  red 
color. 

"I  wonder  if  this  is  Crimea  Square  and  the  house," 
muttered  Bernard,  stepping  forward.  "And  whether 
Lucy  put  that  light  there,  and  sent  the  boy  to  tell  me. 
But  how  could  she  know  I  was  with  Durham  to-night  ?" 

Again  he  heard  the  whistle,  and  then  came  a  shriek 
which  apparently  came  from  the  house,  Bernard  ran 
to  the  steps,  wondering  if  anything  was  the  matter. 
The  door  opened,  and  a  woman  burst  out  of  the  house 
shrieking  at  the  pitch  of  her  voice — "Murder!  Mur- 
der! Murder!"  she  cried.  "Oh,  the  police — the  po- 
lice!    Murder!" 

"Mrs.  Gilroy!"  Bernard  saw  her  face  in  the  light 
which  streamed  from  the  open  door,  and  which  was 
thrown  by  the  street  lamp  vaguely  through  the  fog. 
She  stopped  and  clutched  him,  staring  into  his  face. 

"Come,"  she  said  in  a  harsh  whisper,  and  dragged 
him  forward.  Quite  bewildered.  Gore  suffered  him- 
self to  be  led.  Mrs.  Gilroy  dragged  him  rather  than 
led  him  up  the  stairs  and  into  a  room.  There  he  saw 
his  grandfather  seated  by  the  fire  with  a  handkerchief 
round  his  neck,  and  another  tied  across  his  mouth — 
quite  dead.     "Murder!"  said  Mrs.  Gilroy. 


CHAPTER   Y 

LOST  IN   THE   DARKNESS 

While  the  terrible  word  was  yet  on  the  housekeeper's 
lips,  Bernard  stepped  forward  and  loosened  the  hand- 
kerchiefs. That  round  the  neck  was  one  of  Sir  Simon's 
own,  a  yellow  bandana  woven  of  strong  silk,  and  emi- 
nently suited  to  the  deadly  purpose  it  had  been  used 
for.  But  how  had  the  dead  man's  own  handkerchief 
been  so  utilised  by  the  murderer?  While  untying  the 
knot,  Bernard  wondered;  but  he  gained  an  inkling  into 
the  method  pursued  when  he  removed  the  white  hand- 
kerchief which  had  been  bound  across  the  mouth.  It 
exhaled  a  faint  odor  of  chloroform^  so  it  was  apparent 
that  the  old  baronet  had  been  first  rendered  uncon- 
scious, and  then  strangled  with  his  own  bandana.  But 
who  was  guilty  of  the  crime? 

"AVhat  do  you  know  of  this?"  asked  Gore,  in  a 
hoarse  voice,  turning  to  the  housekeeper. 

She  had  ceased  to  cry  out,  and  Avas  staring  at  him 
with  glittering  eyes.  At  the  same  time  she  appeared 
to  be  listening  intently.  Far  off  could  be  heard  the 
sound  of  approaching  footsteps  echoing  along  the  pave- 
ment. Evidently  a  policeman,  summoned  by  Mrs.  Gil- 
roy's  shriek,  was  hurrying  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 
As  the  door  had  been  left  open  he  would  know  where 
to  enter.  These  thoughts  flashed  through  Mrs.  Gilroy's 
mind  as  she  stared  at  the  pale  young  man.  Also  there 
were  sounds  in  the  lower  j^arts  of  the  house  hinting 


Lost  in  the  Darkness  65 

that  the  servants  had  been  aroused.  A  distant  clock 
struck  the  three  quarters,  and  even  at  that  terrible 
moment  Bernard  remembred  that  in  his  vague  wander- 
ings after  the  boy  he  had  been  forty-five  minutes  get- 
ting to  Crimea  Square.     And  Mrs.  Gilroy  still  looked. 

"What  do  you  know  of  this?"  repeated  Gore,  won- 
dering at  her  silence. 

She  gave  a  gasp.  "He  is  dead,"  said  Mrs.  Gilroy. 
"I  wonder  if  he  died  hard.    He  was  a  strong  old  man." 

Wondering  more  than  ever  at  this  strange  speech, 
Bernard  felt  the  pulse  and  the  heart  of  his  grandfather. 
There  was  no  doubt  that  life  was  extinct,  although  it 
could  not  have  been  so  long.  The  skin  was  still  warm 
to  the  touch,  but  that  might  have  been  because  the 
room  was  heated.  Also,  the  dead  man  was  seated  close 
to  the  fire.  "How  terrible!"  muttered  Bernard,  whose 
emotions  were  not  yet  under  control.  "I  must  get 
help." 

He  turned  to  go,  but  the  housekeeper,  suddenly  be- 
coming endowed  with  life,  flung  herself  in  his  path. 
"]!^o!"  she  said  harshly.  "Don't  seek  help  if  you  value 
your  life." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Gore,  striving  to  shake 
off  the  hand  she  laid  on  his  sleeve.  "The  servants  ard 
up — a  policeman  is  evidently  coming  along.  Hark!  he 
is  entering  the  hall.     I  must — " 

"You  go  to  the  gallow,"  muttered  Mrs.  Gilroy  cling- 
ing to  him. 

"I!"  the  prespiration  burst  out  on  Bernard's  fore- 
head, and  he  started  back.     "Are  you  mad?" 

"You  are,  you  are,"  went  on  tho  housekeeper,  hur- 
riedly, "you  fool!  It  is  known  that  your  grandfather 
disinherited  you,  and — " 


66  The  Red  IVtndow 

"You  know  I  did  not  commit  this  crime." 

"I  know  nothing,  I — I"  Mrs.  Gilroy  put  her  hand 
to  her  head.  "It's  the  only  way — the  only  way,"  she 
whispered  to  herself.  "You  killed  him,  you  strangled 
him.  I  swear  to  it — I  swear  to  it!  Help!"  she  raised 
her  voice  to  scream.     "Help!" 

"Let  me  go,"  cried  Bernard,  thinking  he  had  been 
drawn  into  a  trap. 

But  Mrs.  Gilroy  still  clung  with  a  force  for  which 
he  would  not  have  given  her  credit.  Shrieking  aloud 
she  was  dragged  by  the  startled  young  man  into  the 
passage  and  towards  the  landing.  Below,  in  the  hall, 
the  door  of  which  w^as  open,  the  cook  and  the  house- 
maid were  embracing  a  burly  policeman,  and  terri- 
fied small  page  was  looking  up  the  stairs.  On  the  vision 
of  this  alarmed  group  reeled  Mrs.  Gilroy,  clinging 
and  shrieking  to  Bernard — "Help  me — help  me!  He 
will  escape!"  The  policeman  blew  a  shrill  whistle  and 
said  a  sharp  word  to  the  page,  Avho  scampered  out  of 
the  door  for  dear  life.  The  cook  and  housemaid  re- 
ceded towards  the  back  of  the  hall  as  Bernard,  dragging 
Mrs.  Gilroy  after  him,  flung  himself  down  the  stairs. 
He  saw  now  that  his  position  was  dangerous,  but  his 
wits  were  so  bewildered  that  he  hardly  knew  what  he 
was  doing.  As  he  reached  the  foot  of  the  stair  the 
policeman  caught  him  by  the  coat.  "I  arrest  you  in 
the  King's  name,"  said  the  officer,  promptl.y. 

"Yes,  yes!  for  murder — murder!"  cried  Mrs,  Gilroy, 
breathlessly, 

"Murder!"  the  other  servants  shrieked. 

"Who  is  dead?"  asked  the  policeman,  with  profes- 
sional stolidity. 


Lost  in  the  Darkness  67 

"Sir  Simon  Gore.  This  is  his  grandson.  He  has 
strangled  him." 

"It's  a  lie — a  lie!"  cried  Bernard,  very  pale.  "I 
did  not  enter — " 

"Anything  you  say  now  will  be  used  in  evidence 
against  you,"  said  the  policeman.  "Come  up  the  stairs, 
we  must  see  this  corpse.  A  titled  man,  too,  and  your 
grandfather — ^you  audacious  scoundrel!"  and  he  shook 
the  wretched  young  man. 

"I  tell  you  I  am  innocent,"  said  Bernard,  his  lips 
dry  and  his  face  pale.    "I  came  here — " 

"To  kill  Sir  Simon.  Jane,"  cried  Mrs.  Gilroy,  turn- 
ing to  the  housemaid.     "Don't  you  see  who  it  is?" 

Jane  staggered  forward  supported  by  the  cook. 
"Lor',"  she  gasped  in  terror,  "it's  Bernard.  Whatever 
did  you — " 

"You  know  him,  then?"  asked  the  officer. 

"Yes !  he's  been  making  love  and  visiting  me  for  the 
last  week?" 

"I  thought  so,"  cried  Mrs.  Gilrov,  triumphantly. 
"Cook." 

"I  know  him  too,"  said  the  cook,  keeping  well  out  of 
the  way.  "It's  the  young  soldier  as  courts  Jane.  Ber- 
nard's his  name." 

"I  was  never  in  this  house  before,"  said  Gore,  quite 
unnerved. 

"Is  your  name  Bernard?"  asked  the  policeman. 

"Yes!  but—" 

"Then  you  are  guilty." 

"He  is — he  is!"  cried  the  housemaid.  "He  was  here 
this  evening,  but  went  away  at  six.  Sir  Simon  said 
he  would  see  him  after  ten.     Oh,  Bernard,  how  could 


68  The  Hal  JVindow 

you!"  sobbed  Jane.  "To  think  I  should  have  took  up 
with  a  man  as  'uU  be  put  in  the  Chamber  of  Horrors." 

"Policeman,  let  me  go/'  said  Gore,  firmly.  "There 
is  some  mistake." 

"The  magistrate  will  decide  that.  Help  will  be  here 
soon,  and  then  you'll  be  lodged  in  jail." 

"Mrs.  Gilroy,"  cried  the  young  man,  overwhelmed 
with  horror,  "you  know  I  am  innocent." 

"No,"  she  said  fiercely,  and  with  her  eyes  on  his 
face.  "You  came  to  see  Sir  Simon  after  ten.  I  let 
you  in  myself.  I  waited  below  while  you  spoke  with 
Sir  Simon,  and  you  left  fifteen  minutes  ago.  I  went 
upstairs  to  see  my  master.  He  was  dead — strangled. 
I  ran  out  calling  murder,  and  you  were  almost  on  the 
doorstep." 

'I  had  only  just  come." 

'Come  back,  you  mean,"  said  the  officer. 

"To  see  if  poor  master  was  dead,"  shrieked  the  cook. 

"Oh,  Bernard — Bernard!"  sobbed  Jane,  "how  could 
you  kill  him!  Lor'!  that  I  should  have  kissed  a  mur- 
derer." 

"Hark!"  said  Mrs.  Gilroy,  raising  her  hand,  "foot- 
steps. The  other  police  are  coming.  Take  him  away 
to  jail,  officer." 

"This  is  a  trick — a  trap!"  cried  Bernard,  struggling 
to  get  free.     "I  never  was  in  the  house  before — " 

"You  have  visited  in  the  kitchen  for  over  a  fort- 
night," said  Jane,  weeping  copiously. 

"Someone  like  me  has,  but  not  me.  Look  well,  girl. 
Am  I  the  man?" 

"Bring  him  under  the  lamp,  policeman,"  said  Jane, 
hesitating. 

"No!"  said  Mrs.  Gilroy,  pushing  the  housemaid  back, 


"] 


Lost  in  the  Darkness  69 

"there  is  no  time.  Here  are  the  police.  ,We  must  go 
upstairs  and  see  Sir  Simon.  Miss  Randolph  is  at  the 
theatre  with  Mr.  Berjl.     Ah — hark!" 

There  was  a  sound  of  approaching  wheels,  and  a 
moment  afterwards  a  carriage  drove  up.  Out  of  it 
stepped  Lucj  and  Julius.  They  entered  the  hall  and 
looked  amazed,  as  thej  well  might,  on  seeing  Bernard 
in  the  grip  of  the  policeman,  and  the  alarmed  women 
around  him. 

"What's  this?"  asked  Julius. 

"Bernard,"  cried  Lucv,  running  forward,  "what  have 
you  done?" 

"Murdered  his  grandfather,  miss,"  said  the  police- 
man. 

Lucy  uttered  a  wild  shriek  and  sprang  up  the  stairs, 
followed  by  the  cook  and  housemaid.  But  Mrs.  Gilroy 
still  held  her  ground  and  caught  hold  of  Beryl's  arm. 
"Keep  him  fast,  sir,"  she  said  savagely.  "He  came 
this  night  and  murdered  the  master." 

"Julius,  it  is  a  lie!" 

"I  hope  so,"  said  Beryl,  who  looked  pale  and 
startled;  "but  you  know  you  quarrelled  with  my  uncle." 

"Ah,  did  he?"  said  the  policeman,  and  felt  for  his 
pocket-book.  In  doing  so,  he  slightly  relaxed  his  grip, 
and  Bernard  was  quick  to  take  advantage  of  the  chance. 
Had  he  but  reflected  for  a  moment,  he  would  have 
stood  his  ground  and  have  faced  the  worst;  but  with 
the  accusing  face  of  Mrs.  Gilroy  before  him,  and  a 
memory  of  the  housemaid's  evidence  and  Beryl's  en- 
mity, he  decided  hastily  to  fly.  In  a  moment  he  laid 
the  policeman  flat  on  his  back  by  a  quick  wrestling 
trick,  and  darted  out  into  the  street.  Mrs.  Gilroy  ran 
to  the  door  shrieking  murder,  and  the  word  was  heard 


70  The  Red  IVindow 

-— ■- ...-   ■■    — —  -■ ■  .  .■■■■■,  ,  f 

bj  three  or  four  policemen  who  were  tramping  hur- 
riedly along  in  the  wake  of  the  breathless  page.  At 
once  they  realized  the  situation,  and  plunged  into  the 
fog  after  the  flying  form  of  the  soldier.  The  page 
followed  also,  but  speedily  returned  with  the  news  that 
the  fugitive  was  running  towards  High  Street. 

"He's  bound  to  be  caught,"  said  Mrs.  (rilroy. 

"I  hope  not,"  said  Beryl,  who  was  standing  in  the 
hall  much  disturbed.     "After  all,  he  is  my  cousin." 

"And  a  murderer,"  added  the  housekeeper.  "Wait 
here,  policeman." 

"But  he's  got  away,"  said  the  officer,  considerably 
rufllcd  by  the  escape.     "I  must  follow." 

"The  others  are  after  him,"  said  Julius,  drawing 
him  back.  "You  can't  follow  in  the  fog.  It's  thicker 
than  ever.     Mrs.  Webber." 

"Oh,  what's  the  matter?"  asked  a  trembling  voice, 
and  a  white  face  appeared  at  the  window  of  the  car- 
riage which  stood  at  the  door.     "Mr.  Beryl!" 

"Sir  Simon  has  been  murdered  by  his  grandson," 
said  Julius,  running  down  the  steps  and  speaking 
quietly. 

Mrs.  Webber  tlircw  herself  back  into  the  carriage 
and  shrieked,  "Oh,  horrible!  Drive  away — drive 
away." 

"'Nol  no!"  said  Beryl,  anxiously.  "Lucy  is  upstairs 
with  the  corpse.  Come  and  take  her  away.  She  can't 
remain  here." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Mrs.  Webber,  recovering  from 
her  momentary  alarm,  and  getting  hastily  out  of  the 
carriage.     "James,  where  is  Francis?" 

"Hei's  gone  off  after  the  murderer,   mum,"   said 


Lost  in  the  Darkness  71 

James,  touhcing  his  hat;  "but  for  the  'orses  I'd  have 
gone  also." 

"Wait — wait,"  said  Mrs.  Webber,  hurrying  up  the 
steps.  "How  terrible — poor  Sir  Simon.  Where  is  the 
body?"  she  asked,  shuddering. 

"In  the  sitting-room  on  the  first  floor,"  said  Mrs. 
Gilroy. 

"Where  the  red  light  is?"  asked  the  lady. 

"There  is  no  red  light,"  said  Mrs.  Gilroy. 

"But  I  tell  you  there  is,"  said  Mrs.  Webber.  "I  saw 
it  when  I  heard  the  horrid  cry  of  murder." 

"The  red  light,"  said  Julius,  starting.  "I  wonder" 
— he  hurried  outside  and  looked  up  to  the  dark  front 
of  the  house.  "There's  no  red  light,  Mrs.  Webber," 
he  called  out. 

"I  knew  there  wasn't,"  cried  Mrs.  Gilroy,  sitting 
down,  evidently  exhausted.  "You  must  be  mistaken, 
ma'am." 

Mrs.  Webber  ran  out  also.  "I  am  not  mistaken. 
Why" — she  stared  up  also — "there  is  none.  Yet  I 
am  sure — I'll  ask  Lucy,"  and  she  ran  into  the  house 
again.     "Come  and  show  me  where  the  poor  man  is." 

This  was  to  Mrs.  Gilroy,  who  rose  slowly  and  walked 
heavily  up  the  stairs.  "Are  you  in  pain,  Mrs.  Gil- 
roy?" asked  Julius,  who  followed. 

"Yes,"  she  muttered,  pressing  her  hand  to  her  side. 
"Mr.  Gore  gave  me  a  wrench  when  I  struggled  with 
him.  My  poor  master,"  and  sighing  heavily,  she 
panted  up  the  stair. 

In  the  room,  Lucy  was  kneeling  beside  the  dead, 
with  the  tears  streaming  down  her  cheeks  and  holding 
the  limp  hand.  "  How  terrible  it  is!  "  she  sobbed. 
"  He  was  so  well  and  bright  when  I  left  to  go  to  the 


72  The  Red  JVindow 

theatre,  and  now " — she  broke  down,  Julius  sup- 
ported her  to  the  sofa  and  strove  to  cahn  her. 

"  It  is  terrible,"  he  said  soothingly.  "  I  think  you 
had  better  go  back  with.  Mrs.  Webber." 

''Xo!"  she  said,  drying  her  eyes.  "I  will  wait 
here." 

"  Yes,  do,  miss,"  chorussed  the  cook  and  the  house- 
maid, who  were  both  in  a  state  of  wild  alarm. 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort,"  said  Mrs.  Webber,  laying  her 
hand  on  the  girl's  shoulder.  "  Come  home  with  me, 
dear." 

Mrs.  Webber  was  a  small,  dark,  stern-looking  little 
woman  with  a  high  color,  although  her  face  was  very 
white  at  the  present  awful  moment.  She  was  possessed 
of  considerable  determination,  as  could  be  seen  from 
her  firm  mouth.  But  Lucy,  in  spite  of  her  youth  and 
the  crushing  to  which  she  had  been  subjected  by  Sir 
Simon,  had  the  stronger  will,  and  positively  refused  to 
leave  the  house. 

"  He  was  my  only  friend,"  she  said,  rising,  "  and  I 
won't  go  away." 

"  You  can  do  nothing,  dear,"  said  Julius,  quickly. 

"  I  can  help  the  nurse  mth  the  body,"  she  answered. 
"  Don't  say  another  word,  Julius.  My  post  is  here. 
Send  for  someone  at  once  to  lay  out  the  body,  unless 
you — "     She  looked  at  Jane  and  the  cook. 

These  cowards  shrieked  simultaneously,  and  with  one 
accord  fled  to  the  lower  regions,  where  they  sat  up  for 
the  rest  of  the  night  drinking  strong  tea,  and  discussing 
the  tragic  event  with  the  gusto  peculiar  to  their  class. 
The  policeman  joined  them  here  later,  and  asked  after 
the  courting  of  Jane. 

Meantime  Mrs.   Webber,  finding  all  remonstrance 


Lost  in  the  Darkness  73 

vain,  had  departed.  Mrs.  Gilroj  remained  alone  with 
the  dead  body,  and  Julius,  leading  Li^cj  to  another 
room,  answered  the  inquiries  of  an  inspector  who  had 
appeared  on  the  scene.  He  noted  all  replies  made,  and 
explained  that  the  fugitive  had  not  yet  been  caught. 
''  And  I  don't  know  if  he  will  be^"  added  Inspector 
Groom,  shrugging  his  shoulders;  "  the  fog  is  thick." 

'"  And  Bernard  is  very  quick,"  said  Lucy,  sipping  a 
glass  of  mne  which  she  sorely  needed.  *'^  Oh,  I  hope 
he'll  get  away!  " 

"  Very  natural,"  said  Groom,  nodding.  "  You  don't 
want  the  scandal." 

"  I  don't  want  Bernard  hanged,"  said  Miss  Kan- 
dolph. 

"  Ah!     Then  you  think  he  is  guilty." 

"  Mrs.  Gilroy  says  he  is,"  answered  the  girl,  sobbing, 
"  and  I  know  Bernard  was  on  bad  terms  with  Sir  Simon. 
Julius,  perhaps  after  all  Bernard  may  be  innocent." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Beryl,  dubiously;  "  but  according 
to  Jane,  Bernard  has  been  hanging  round  the  house  for 
the  last  fortnight,  and " 

"  Ah !  "  said  Groom,  sharply,  "  hanging  round  the 
house,  eh?     I  must  speak  to  Jane.     Who  is  she?  " 

"  The  housemaid.  Bernard  has  been  making  love 
to  her." 

"  I  don't  believe  that  is  true,"  said  Lucy." 

"  Young  gentlemen  do  take  strange  fancies  some- 
times," said  Groom,  "and  some  housemaids  are  pretty." 

Lucy's  lip  curled.  "  Jane  is  not  pretty,"  said  she, 
decidedly,  "  and  Bernard  is  far  too  fastidious  a  man  to 
lower  himself  in  that  way." 

"  Well,  the  long  and  the  short  of  it  is,  that  he  has 
been  hanging  round  the  house,"  put  in  Beryl,  biting  his 


74  The  Red  Window 

fingers  impatiently.  "  Probably  he  came  here  this  eve- 
ning, and  saw  Sir  Simon  in  answer  to  the  signal  of  the 
Eed  Window." 

"  The  Red  Window!  "  echoed  Lucy. 

"  Yes,    You  told  me  about  the  signal  this  evening." 

"  But  I  did  not  place  a  lamp  in  any  window,  and 
there  is  no  Red  Window  here.  Had  I  done  that  to  at- 
tract Bernard,  I  should  have  told  you." 

"  I  don't  think  you  would,"  said  Beryl,  with  a  sig- 
nificant expression;  '"  but  the  fact  remains,  Mrs.  Web- 
ber saw  the  Red  Window." 

"  You  did  not." 

"  No.  But  a  piece  of  red  stuff  may  have  been  used 
to  make  the  light,  and  then  removed." 

"  Mrs.  Gilroy  may  know  about  it." 

But  Mrs.  Gilroy,  when  questioned,  did  not.  She 
never  knew  anything  about  a  red  light.  Sir  Simon  had 
expressed  the  wish  to  see  the  soldier,  and  had  sent 
down  to  the  kitchen  before  six.  "  He  was  then  having 
tea  with  Jane." 

"  Did  you  see  him?  "  asked  the  inspector. 

"  Xo.  Had  I  done  so  I  should  have  recognized  him. 
But  he  always  got  out  of  the  place  when  he  heard  me 
coming.  Once  he  was  concealed  in  a  cupboard.  On 
receiving  Sir  Simon's  message  sent  by  the  page,  he  left 

the  house " 

J      "  Yes,"  interrupted  Lucy.     "  I  remember  the  mes- 
\sage  being  brought  back." 

;  "  And  then  he  came  after  ten,"  went  on  Mrs.  Gilroy. 
'"  I  opened  the  door  to  him.  He  asked  to  see  his  grand- 
father." 

"  He  was  this  man,  then?  "  asked  Groom. 

"Mr.  Bernard  Gore?     Yes^  he  was.     He  weut  to 


Lost  in  the  Darkness  75 

see  the  old  gentleman,  and  I  waited  below.  Then  he 
left  the  house " 

"  Did  you  let  him  out?  " 

"  'No.  He  went  away  quickly.  "Wondering  at  the 
length  of  the  interview,  I  ran  up  the  stairs  and  found 
Sir  Simon  dead.  I  came  out  at  once,  and  found  Mr. 
Gore  almost  on  the  doorstep " 

"  Mr.  Gore?  "  asked  the  inspector,  looking  up. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Bernard  Gore,  the  grandson  of  Sir 
Simon." 

"  And  my  cousin,"  said  Julius.  "  You  say  he  was 
at  the  door? " 

"  He  was,  Mr.  Beryl.  I  made  him  come  up  the 
stairs  and " — she  made  a  vesture — "  vou  know  the 
rest." 

Groom  put  the  housekeeper  through  a  thorough 
examination,  and  noted  down  her  replies.  She  told  a 
consistent  story.  Then  he  questioned  Julius  and  Lucy 
regarding  the  quarrel  between  the  deceased  and  his 
grandson.  Finally  he  proceeded  to  the  kitchen  and 
questioned  the  servants.  The  result  of  these  inquiries 
was  that  Inspector  Groom  left  the  house — with  a 
policeman  in  charge — firmly  persuaded  of  Bernard's 
guilt.  All  the  evidence  pointed  to  his  committal  of  the 
crime.  Groom  was  not  ill-pleased.  He  thought  he 
had  secured  a  case  likely  to  cause  a  sensation,  and  to 
prove  remunerative  to  himself. 

While  the  rope  to  hang  the  unfortunate  young  man 
was  being  woven,  the  outcast — for  he  was  nothing  else 
now — was  racing  through  the  fog.  After  the  first 
plunge  into  the  gray  mist,  he  succeeded  in  shaking  off 
the  officers — all  save  one.  This  was  a  young  fellow, 
quick  on  his  legs.     lie  followed  Bernard  towards  the 


76  The  Red  Window 


High  Street,  as  had  been  reported  by  the  page,  who  had 
seen  the  two  dark  forms  shooting  past  him.  Only  a 
yard  or  two  lay  between  pursued  and  pursuer,  and 
Gore,  in  spite  of  all  his  efforts,  could  not  increase  the 
distance.  But  he  was  determined  not  to  be  taken.  Un- 
doubtedly he  had  been  drawn  into  a  trap,  and  howso- 
ever innocent  he  was,  it  might  be  impossible  to  prove 
that  he  was  guiltless  in  the  face  of  the  enmity  of  Mrs. 
Gilroy  and  Julius.  Also,  there  w^as  the  evidence  of 
Jane  to  be  reckoned  with,  and  she  was  doubtless  a  tool 
in  the  hands  of  her  superiors.  Bernard  wanted  to  gain 
a  place  of  refuge,  so  that  he  might  think  over  his  posi- 
tion and  communicate  with  Durham  and  Conniston. 
They  might  be  able  to  help  him  in  this  dilemma. 

It  was  impossible  to  remain  in  the  High  Street,  seeing 
that  every  moment  he  ran  a  chance  of  falling  into  the 
arms  of  a  policeman.  He  therefore  turned  down  a  side 
street  and  raced  through  Cheniston  Gardens.  His 
pursuer,  still  close  on  his  heels,  followed,  and  by  this 
time  another  officer  had  joined.  Bernard  made  up  his 
mind  and  ran  for  the  river.  He  crossed  Cromwell 
Road,  Fulham  Road,  sped  through  Elm  Park  Gardens, 
and  down  to  Chelsea.  Many  were  after  him  by  the 
time  he  reached  the  river's  bank.  Only  one  chance 
remained.  He  plunged  into  the  stream  and  the  fog 
covered  his  retreat. 

"  It's  all  up,"  said  the  policeman,  who  heard  the 
plunge.     "  He'll  be  drowned." 


CHAPTER  YI 


A   MAIDEN   GENTLEWOMAN 


"  Hurseton,  in  Essex,  lies  about  ten  miles  from  the 
coastj  and  is  elevated  on  a  wide  plateau  whence  can  be 
obtained  a  fine  and  picturesque  view  of  the  famous 
marshes.  It  is  a  quaint,  old-world  village,  gathered 
round  an  ancient  Saxon  Cross,  which  occupies  the 
centre  of  the  village  green.  The  church — eleventh 
century — ^is  dedicated  to  St.  Peter,  and  is,  for  the  most 
part,  sunken  in  the  ground  owing  to  its  antiquity.  The 
tower  and  spire  are  of  wood.  Many  of  the  gentry  have 
country  seats  in  this  popular  vicinity.  The  rising 
watering-place  of  Market-on-Sea,  five  miles  distant,  is 
much  frequented  by  Londoners  during  the  holiday 
season.  Hurseton  can  be  reached  from  to\vn  by  rail  a 
little  over  the  hour." 

So  far  the  guide-book;  but  the  above-mentioned 
gentry  referred  to  therein  were  not  at  all  pleased  by  the 
advertisement,  as  many  of  the  cheap  trippers  came  to 
visit  the  place  from  Market-on-Sea,  and  by  no  means 
improved  the  countryside  with  their  rowdy  manners. 
Miss  Berengaria  Plantagenet  was  especially  wrathful 
at  the  yearly  plague  of  sightseers,  and  would  have  put 
them  all  in  jail  had  she  been  able.  She  was  a  dignified 
old  lady,  small  in  stature,  with  a  withered  rosy  face, 
white  hair,  and  eyes  as  keen  as  those  of  a  robin,  if  not 
so  shallow.  Her  mansion — so  she  called  it — stood  at 
the  end  of  the  village,  a  little  way  back  from  the  long, 


78  The  Red  irindoiv 

straight  road  which  ran  towards  the  coast  and  the 
marshes.  But  the  term  mansion  was  rather  a  mis- 
nomer. The  phice  had  originally  been  a  small  farm- 
house, and  Miss  Bereugaria — as  she  was  usually  called 
— had  added  to  it  considerably,  so  that  it  formed  an 
irregular  jiile  of  buildings,  all  angles  and  gables,  slop- 
ing roofs  and  stacks  of  twisted  chimneys.  Some  of  it 
was  thatched,  a  portion  was  covered  with  mello^^^  red 
tiles,  and  a  kind  of  round  turret,  quite  out  of  keeping 
with  the  rest  of  the  building,  was  slated.  Every  species 
of  architecture  was  represented  in  "  The  Bower,"  and 
the  name  did  not  fit  it  in  the  least.  But  Miss  Beren- 
garia  had  dwelt  in  it  for  forty  years — ever  since  she 
had  been  disappointed  in  love — and,  being  a  lady  of 
singularly  independent  character,  she  gave  the  house 
its  odd  appellation.  The  low  pile  of  buildings — for  the 
most  part  of  these  did  not  exceed  one  story  in  height 
— looked  quaint  and  queer,  but  then  Miss  Berengaria 
was  queer  herself. 

Every  morning  she  could  be  seen  in  her  garden  snip- 
ping and  picking  and  clij)ping  and  scolding.  The  gar- 
dens were  divided  from  the  highroad  by  a  low  hedge 
of  holly  and  hawthorn,  carefully  trimmed,  and  pre- 
sented a  pleasant  spectacle  of  lawn  and  flower-beds.  In 
summer  the  place  was  gay  with  cottage  flowers,  for 
Miss  Berengaria,  being  old-fashioned  herself,  w^ould 
have  no  new-fangled  importations.  The  flowers  she 
loved  were  snapdragon,  sweet-william,  heart's-ease,  and 
all  those  homely  blossoms  such  as  John  Bunyan  loved. 
The  house  was  covered  Anth  Virginia  creeper,  wistaria 
and  ivy,  and  through  the  thick  growth  peeped  the  lat- 
ticed windows  under  heavy  eyebrows  of  gray  thatch. 
It  might  have  been  a  cottage  out  of  a  fairy  tale  for 


A  Maiden  Gentlewoman  79 

quaintness ;  and  its  mistress  might  have  been  a  fairy 
herself  in  stature  and  oddity.  The  villagers  liked  her, 
though  she  was  rather  dreaded. 

"  A  sharp  old  lady,"  said  the  host  of  the  Conniston 
Arms,  "and  quite  the  lady,  bless  you!  though  she  do 
keep  fowls  and  ducks  and  though  she  do  sell  her  fruit. 
She  looks  like  a  gipsy  by  way  of  dress  in  the  day,  but 
when  she  claps  her  diamonds  on  at  night,  bless  you! 
she's  as  grand  as  the  queen  herself." 

This  report  was  perfectly  true.  Miss  Berengaria  al- 
ways dressed — as  she  put  it — anyhow  during  the  day; 
but  at  night  she  appeared  it  silver  gray  silk  covered 
with  costly  lace,  and  wearing  jewels  of  great  value.  She 
had  a  weakness  for  jewels,  and  had  many,  which  she 
wore  every  evening.  People  hinted  that  she  would  be 
robbed,  as  the  cottage  was  situated  in  rather  a  solitary 
position,  and  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  village.  But 
Miss  Berengaria  was  a  stout-hearted  old  lady  and 
laughed  such  ideas  to  scorn. 

As  it  was  now  winter.  Miss  Berengaria  was  attired 
in  a  wincey  dress  with  a  tartan  shawl,  and  wore  rubber 
boots  on  her  feet  and  large  gardener's  gloves  on  her 
hands.  Having  finished  clipping  and  pruning — she 
kept  no  gardener,  saying  she  knew  more  than  a  trained 
professional — she  tripped  round  to  the  back  of  the 
house,  where  a  colony  of  fowls,  pigeons,  ducks,  turkeys 
and  geese  welcomed  her  coming  with  much  noise.  Her 
hobby — amongst  others — was  fowl-fanning,  and  she 
gave  up  a  large  portion  of  her  time  to  rearing  and  fat- 
tening birds  for  the  market.  As  her  income  was  five 
thousand  a  year  there  was  no  need  for  her  to  work  so 
hard,  but  she  was  out  at  all  times  and  in  all  weathers 
attending  to  her  feathered  pets.     A  particularly  ugly 


80  The  Red  JVindow 

bnll-dog,  called  Sloppy  Jane,  accompanied  her.  Miss 
Berengaria  did  not  approve  of  the  nsme,  but  the  dog 
Avonld  answer  to  no  other,  so  it  had  to  be  adopted, 
floppy  Jane  was  devoted  to  her  mistress  and  to  Alice. 
^Vhile  Miss  Berengaria  was  feeding  the  fowls  and  won- 
dering when  the  gong  would  sound  for  breakfast,  Alice 
came  out  with  a  paper  in  her  hand.  She  was  a  tall, 
slim  girl  with  a  fair  face  and  brown  eyes  and  hair.  Not 
particularly  pretty,  perhaps,  but  with  such  a  sweet  ex- 
pression and  such  a  charming  disposition  that  young 
men  fell  in  love  with  her  on  the  spot.  Nor  after  a 
closer  acquaintance  did  any  see  fit  to  change  their 
opinions.  Had  Sir  Simon  seen  her  he  might  have  ap- 
proved of  Bernard's  choice,  but  there  being  a  stand- 
ing quarrel  between  the  old  baronet  and  Miss  Beren- 
garia, on  the  rights  of  a  footpath,  the  old  man  had 
never  come  near  "  The  Bower  "  for  years.  The  old 
gentlewoman,  in  spite  of  a  rather  sharp  manner,  was 
fond  of  Alice,  and  Miss  Malleson  was  devoted  to  her. 
The  morning  was  sharp  and  cold,  but  there  was  a 
blue  sky  and  occasional  glints  of  sunshine,  "  And  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  wo  had  snow/'  said  Miss  Beren- 
garia, looking  up.  "  Perhaps  a  snowy  Christmas.  Ah, 
we  had  them  when  I  was  a  girl.  But  there!  the 
weather's  deteriorated  like  everything  else." 

"  Aunt,"  said  Alice,  in  a  faint  voice — Miss  Beren- 
garia always  liked  to  hear  the  name,  although  she  was 
no  relative — "  Aunt !  " 

At  the  sound  of  the  faint  voice  the  old  dame  wheeled 
round — she  was  active  in  spite  of  being  eighty  years  of 
age — and  uttered  an  exclamation  on  seeing  the  white 
face  of  the  girl.  Alice  was  deathly  pale  and,  clinging 
with  one  hand  to  some  wire  netting,  held  a  newspaper 


A  Maiden  Gentlewoman  81 

in  the  other.  "  What's  the  matter,  child?  Anything 
wrong? " 

"Bernard?"  gasped  Alice.  "Oh,  Bernard!  Ber- 
nard! " 

"  This  must  be  looked  into,"  said  Miss  Berengaria, 
using  her  favorite  expression.  "  Something  is  wrong 
with  that  silly  boy.  What's  he  been  doing,  child?  It 
must  be  something  bad  if  it's  in  the  paper." 

"  I  don't  believe  he  did  it,"  said  Alice,  trembling. 
"  He  is  innocent." 

Miss  Berengaria  trembled  also  and  sat  down.  "  Don't 
hint  at  horrors,  Alice,"  she  said,  with  an  effort  at  self- 
command.  "  I'm  not  fit  for  such  things.  I  don't  sup- 
pose the  boy's  killed  anyone — though,  to  be  sure,  as 
he's  a  soldier  now,  it's  his  trade." 

"Murder!" 

"Eh!  What's  that?  Murder,  Alice!"  The  old 
lady's  ruddy  cheeks  grew  white,  and  she  stretched  out 
her  hand  for  the  paper.  "  Show  me!  "  she  said  reso- 
lutely. 

Alice  did  not  hand  her  the  paper.  She  seemed  almost 
incapable  of  understanding  what  was  said. 

"  Bernard  is  dead!  "  she  moaned. 

"Dead!     Great  Heavens!  " 

"  lie  is  drowned.  It's  all  in  the  paper.  It's  all — 
Oh— oh!" 

Breaking  off  suddenly  she  dropped  the  paper,  and 
fled  towards  the  house  like  a  creature  suddenly  aroused 
to  life.  Miss  Berengaria  did  not  lose  a  moment.  With 
an  activity  wonderful  in  a  woman  of  her  years  she 
sprang  to  her  feet,  and  hurried  up  the  path  round  to 
the  front  of  the  house,  following  in  the  wake  of  the 
weeping  girl.     She  saw  Alice  disappear  into  the  porch 


82  The  Red  IVindow 

and  enter  the  breakfast-room,  where  the  meal  was  al- 
ready waiting.  There,  on  the  hearth-rug,  Alice  fell 
prone.  Miss  Berengaria  knelt  down  and  took  her  hand. 
She  had  not  fainted,  but,  cold  and  shivering,  was  sob- 
bing as  though  her  heart  would  break.  And  perhaps 
it  would,  under  this  unexpected  and  terrible  calamity. 
Bernard  was  her  idol,  and  now  he  was  dead,  and  his 
memory  fouled  with  the  accusation  of  an  awful  crime. 

Finding  that  Alice  still  had  her  senses  Miss  Beren- 
garia nodded  and  sat  down,  "  The  best  thing  for  you, 
my  dear,"  she  said  in  a  soft  voice.  "  Weep  your  heart 
out,  w^hile  I  read  the  paper." 

These  words  sound  rather  heartless,  but  the  old  lady 
did  not  intend  them  to  be  so.  She  realized  that  tears 
would  relieve  the  strain  on  the  ahnost  stunned  girl,  and 
welcomed  them  gladly.  Alice  knew  that  her  friend 
spoke  for  the  best,  but  she  gave  no  sign  as,  lying  prone 
on  the  rug,  she  concealed  her  agonized  face,  while  Miss 
Berengaria  adjusting  her  spectacles,  glanced  through 
the  paper.  Already  the  gong  had  sounded,  the  meal 
smoked  on  the  table,  and  there  was  no  fear  of  interrup- 
tions by  the  servants.  But  neither  Miss  Berengaria 
nor  Alice  was  able  to  eat  in  the  face  of  this  bolt  from 
the  blue. 

"  Where  is  it,  my  dear? — oh,  here!  Murder  and 
Suicide.  A  nice  heading,  upon  my  word.  Rubbish!  I 
don't  believe  a  word  of  it." 

"  Read!    Read!  "  moaned  the  girl  at  her  feet. 

"  Alice,"  said  Miss  Berengaria,  severely,  "  before 
reading  a  word  I  tell  you  that  I  don't  believe  a  word  of 
it.  Bernard,  though  a  silly  boy,  would  not  kill  a  fly, 
nor  would  he  kill  himself.  Murder  and  Suicide!  Oh, 
rubbish — rubbish!  " 


A  Maiden  Gentlewoman  83 


a 


But  you  know,  and  I  know,  he  quarrelled  with  his 
grandfather." 

Miss  Berengaria  looked  at  the  girl's  white  face  as 
she  half  crouched,  half  sat  on  the  rug,  with  her  eyes 
wild  and  her  brown  hair  in  disorder. 

"  I  don't  see  what  Sir  Simon  has  to  do  with  it,"  said 
she,  tartly. 

"  He  is  dead." 

"Dead!" — Miss  Berengaria  shivered.  "You  don't 
mean  to  say  that." 

"Bead!  Bead!  Everything  is  against  him — every- 
thing.    Oh,  how  can  I  bear  my  life?    How  can  I  live?  " 

"  Alice,"  said  the  old  dame  again,  although  she  was 
very  white,  "  if  this  lying  paper  means  to  say  that  Ber- 
nard murdered  Sir  Simon,  I  tell  you  again  that  I  don't 
believe  a  word  of  it.  You,  who  love  him,  ought  to  be- 
lieve in  his  innocence." 

"  But  the  evidence." 

"  A  fig  for  evidence.  Circumstantial  evidence  has 
hanged  an  innocent  man  before  now.  Bernard  Gore 
kill  that  old  tyrant ?  " 

"Hush!     He  is  dead!" 

"  And  so  we  are  to  speak  well  of  him,"  snapped  Miss 
Berengaria.  "  Oh,  well " — she  rubbed  her  nose — 
"  we'll  tell  lies  about  him  like  the  majority  of  tomb- 
stones do  of  those  who  lie  below,  but  I  tell  you,  foolish 
girl  that  you  are,  Bernard  did  not  kill  the  old  man,  nor 
did  he  kill  himself." 

"  But  the  paper  says " 

"  I  don't  care  what  the  paper  says,"  said  Miss  Beren- 
garia, resolutely.  "  No,  indeed.  I  am  a  better  judge  of 
character  than  any  paper.  That  poor  boy  was  vilely 
treated   by  that — there!  there!      I  won't    say  a  word 


84  The  Red  Jf^tndoiv 

against  Sir  Simon.  He's  dead,  and  we  must  be  lenient. 
I>iit  Bf^rnard  Gore  is  innocent.  Before  I  read  I  tell 
you  that." 

"  I  hope  it  may  be  so,"  cried  Alice,  clasping  her 
hands. 

"  It  is  so,"  said  the  other,  sharply  and  in  a  truly  fem- 
inine way.  "  All  I  know  is  that  Sloppy  Jane  adored 
him,  and  she's. not  the  dog  to  adore  anyone  who  would 
shed  blood." 

Alice  could  not  but  see  that  this  reasoning  was  not 
based  on  facts.  But,  all  the  same,  ridiculous  though  it 
was,  she  derived  a  certain  comfort  from  it.  Miss 
Berengaria,  who  had  been  thus  optimistic  to  quieten  the 
poor  girl,  nodded,  Avhen  Alice  took  a  seat  in  the  oppo- 
site chair  more  composed,  and  addressed  herself  to  mas- 
tering the  facts  of  the  case.  Alice,  with  clasped  hands, 
stared  at  the  old  lady  as  she  read  silently  but  with  fre- 
quent raising  of  her  eyebrows  and  sometimes  a  sniff. 
The  paper  stated  that  Sir  Simon  and  his  grandson,  Ber- 
nard, were  enemies,  that  the  young  man,  having  been 
hanging  round  the  house  for  a  fortnight  courting  the 
housemaid,  had  secured  an  interview  with  the  elder 
when  Miss  Randolph  was  at  the  theatre.  He  had  e\'i- 
dently  quarrelled  with  Sir  Simon,  and,  having  chloro- 
formed him,  had  quietly  strangled  him  with  his  own 
handkerchief,  after  which  he  left  the  house.  Then  fol- 
lowed an  account  of  the  pursuit  and  failure  to  capture 
Gore.  "  He  escaped  the  officers  by  plunging  into  the 
river,"  said  the  journal.  "  N^ext  morning  his  khaki 
coat  and  hat  were  found  on  the  opposite  bank,  so  doubt- 
less he  got  rid  of  them  when  attempting  to  swim.  But 
what,  with  the  cold  and  the  fog,  undoubtedly  he  must 
have  succumbed  to  the  force  of  the  current."     Finally 


A  Maiden  Gentlewoman  85 


the  paper  stated  that  an  inquest  would  be  held  within 
two  days  on  the  dead  body.  At  the  conclusion  of  this 
somewhat  bald  article,  Miss  Berengaria  gave  a  short 
laugh  and  threw  down  the  paper.  "  I  don't  believe  a 
word  of  it,"  she  said,  folding  her  arms,  "  and  I'm  going 
up  to  London." 

"What  for,  aunt?" 

"  To  see  into  the  matter  myself.  I  believe  that 
Beryl  creature  is  responsible  for  the  whole  thing." 

"  But  see,"  said  Alice,  picking  up  the  paper,  "  he 
was  at  the  theatre  with  Lucy  and  a  Mrs.  Webber." 

"  I  don't  care.  Eailing  Bernard,  Julius  comes  in  for 
the  money." 

"  He  comes  in  for  it  even  without  that,"  said  Alice, 
bitterly.  "  Don't  you  remember  that  Sir  Simon  disin- 
herited Bernard  because  he  would  not  give  me  up?  I 
implored  Bernard,  for  his  own  sake,  to  break  our  en- 
gagement, but  he  refused.  lie  gave  up  all  for  me,  and 
now  he  is  dead — dea — dead.  Oh,"  sobbed  Alice,  '"  how 
unhappy  I  am!  " 

"  How  foolish  you  are,"  said  ]\iiss  Berengaria,  her 
eyes  hard  and  bright.  "  Do  you  think  a  man,  who 
could  act  towards  you  in  so  noble  a  wa}"-,  would  commit 
a  cowardly  murder,  and  then  shirk  the  consequences? 
Not  at  all.  I'm  ashamed  of  you.  I  once  loved,"  said 
the  old  lady,  rising  and  marching  energetically  about 
the  room,  "  and  my  lover  was  a  fool  and  a  villain.  Ber- 
nard is  neith(>r.  He  is  a  fine  fellow,  God  bless  him  and 
bring  hmi  safely  out  of  this  trouble!  He  shall  have  my 
help — yes,  my  best  help,"  added  Miss  Berengaria  nod- 
ding. 

"  But  he  is  dead." 

"  He  is  not  dead,  you  weak-minded,  silly,  hysterical 


86  The  Red  Window 

girl.  That  sort  of  man  has  as  many  lives  as  a  cat.  He's 
alive,  to  vindicate  his  reputation  and  to  bring  home  the 
crime  to  the  real  assassin." 

"  But  who  can  that  be?  "  asked  Alice,  comforted  hy 
this  assurance. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Miss  Berengaria,  taking  a  seat 
at  the  table.  "  Come  and  pour  out  my  coffee,  and 
eat." 

Alice  dragged  herself  to  the  table  and  took  up  the 
silver  pot.     "  I  can't  eat,"  she  said  faintly. 

"  Yes,  you  can ;  and,  what's  more,  you're  going  to. 
ISTo  nonsense  with  me,  miss.  You  and  I  have  a  hard 
task  before  us." 

"What  is  that?" 

Miss  Berengaria  laid  down  her  knife  and  fork  with 
which  she  was  about  to  carve  a  piece  of  bacon.  "  Well, 
I  am  astonished,"  she  said,  glaring.  "  In  my  young 
days  a  girl  in  love  would  have  been  ashamed  to  make 
such  a  speech.  Why,  bless  me !  haven't  we  got  to  prove 
Bernard's  innocence?" 

"  Will  that  bring  him  to  life?  "  said  Alice,  bitterly. 

"  It  would,  if  it  were  necessary;  but  it  isn't.  Ber- 
nard's in  hiding," 

"  Can  you  be  sure?  " 

"  Alice  Malleson/'  said  the  resolute  old  dame,  "  if 
you  were  younger  I  would  shake  you  and  send  you  to 
bed  on  bread  and  water.  You  don't  deserve  to  be  loved 
by  such  a  man.  He  gave  up  all  for  you,  and  you  be- 
lieve the  worst  of  him." 

"  Bernard  has  a  temper,  and  he  might  have — " 

"  But  he  didn't.  I  know  he  has  a  temper.  I  admire 
his  temper.  I  saw  him  thrash  a  tramp  for  throwing 
away  a  loaf    of    bread,  and    that  warmed  my  heart 


A  Maiden  Gentlewoman  87 

towards  him.  Had  I  married  the  villain  I  didn't  marry, 
and  he  hadn't  been  such  a  villain  as  he  was,  I  would 
have  had  a  son  just  like  Bernard — perhaps  two  or  three. 
Dear!  dear,  what  a  loss  to  the  British  Empire  that  I 
never  married." 

In  spite  of  her  grief  Alice  could  not  help  smiling  at 
this  way  of  putting  things.  But  certainly  Miss  Plan- 
tagenet  was  right.  Had  she  been  a  mother,  her  daunt- 
less nature  was  of  the  sort  that  would  have  bred  brave 
sons  for  the  motherland.  The  old  lady  was  one  of 
those  strong  people  always  to  be  relied  upon  in  time 
of  calamity.  The  worse  the  trouble  the  quicker  Miss 
Berengaria  rose  to  the  occasion.  She  prided  herself 
on  facing  facts,  alleging  that  only  in  this  way  could 
things  be  settled.  At  the  present  moment  she  acknowl- 
edged silently  to  herself  that  things  looked  black 
against  Bernard  Gore  and  that  he  really  might  be  dead 
for  all  she  knew.  But  to  Alice  she  refused  to  admit 
these  thoughts. 

"  This  must  be  looked  into,"  she  said  energetically, 
"  and  I  am  going  up  to  town  to  see  about  the  matter. 
When  I  have  heard  the  evidence  at  the  inquest  I'll 
know  how  to  shape  my  course." 

"What  will  you  do?"  asked  Alice,  brightening 
under  this  optimism. 

"  When  acquainted  with  the  facts,"  said  Miss  Ber- 
engaria, rolling  up  her  napkin,  "  and  when  I  have 
formed  my  theory — " 

"  Your  theory,  aunt?  " 

"Yes!  My  theory  as  to  who  murdered  the  old — 
Well,  it's  Sir  Simon  I  mean — we  must  be  lenient  to  his 
memory.  But  when  I  have  formed  my  theory  I'll  see 
a  detective  and  place  the  matter  in  his  hands.     I  shall 


88  The  Red  Window 

then  advertise  for  Bernard  and  we  must  see  if  we  can't 
get  him  to  come  here." 

"  He  would  be  arrested  if  he  did." 

"  JSTot  at  all.  I  know  where  to  hide  him.  There's 
the  haunted  room  in  the  turret.  If  he  were  hidden 
there  no  one  could  find  him.  And  if  anyone  of  my 
servants — my  good  servants,"  said  the  old  dame,  em- 
phatically, "  denounces  him  I'll  eat  my  hat,  and  that's 
a  vulgar  expression,"  added  she,  as  she  placed  the  nap- 
kin on  the  table  with  a  smart  tap.  "  Child,  come  and 
help  me  to  dress.  I  shall  leave  by  the  mid-day  train. 
You  can  send  all  letters  to  the  AVaterloo  Hotel,  Guclph 
Street." 

"  But  I  am  coming  also,"  said  Alice,  rising  resolutely. 

"  No,  you  are  not,"  rejoined  Miss  Berengaria,  pat- 
ting the  hand  laid  on  her  shoulder,  and  turning  back 
from  the  door.  "  Though  I  am  glad  to  see  that  you 
are  ready  to  help." 

"  Who  has  the  right  to  help  my  darling  but  I?  " 

"  Ah !  "  Miss  Berengaria  rubbed  her  nose  with  sat- 
isfaction. "  It  does  my  heart  good  to  hear  you  talk 
sense.     Is  Bernard  innocent?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Alice,  emphatically. 

"  Is  he  alive?  " 

The  girl  faltered,  but  Miss  Berengaria's  eyes  were 
on  her,  and  she  faltered  out  a  faint  "  Yes." 

"  Not  so  strong  as  you  ought  to  be,"  said  the  aunt, 
sadly.  "  My  dear,  you  must  believe  that  he  is  alive, 
because  he  is.  I  have  no  reason  to  give,  so  don't  ask 
me  for  one.  He  is  alive,  and  all  you  have  to  do  is  to 
remain  here  and  watch  for  his  coming.  Yes.  It'  is 
more  than  probable  that  Bernard  will  come  here." 

"  But  the  danger,"  said  Alice,  iomily. 


A  Maiden  Gentlewoman  89 

"  Bernard  knows  neither  you  nor  I  will  give  him  up, 
and  this  is  the  place  he  will  come  to.  The  poor  soul  is 
being  hunted  down,  I  daresay.  But  he  knows  where 
to  come  to,  bless  him!  Watch,  my  dear  child.  It  is 
probable  he  will  come  at  night.  Then  take  him  to  the 
turret  room,  and  tell  the  servants  to  hold  their  tongues. 
What's  that?" 

It  was  a  demure  old  woman — all  ISIiss  Berengaria's 
servants  were  aged — who  advanced  with  a  telegram  for 
Alice.  With  shaking  fingers,  the  girl  opened  it. 
"From  Mr.  Durham,"  she  said.  "  He  is  Bernard's  law- 
yer and  wants  me  to  come  to  see  him  at  once." 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Berengaria,  taking  the  telegram 
from  her.  "  I'll  go  myself.  You  stay  here  and  wait 
for  the  coming  of  that  poor  boy." 


CHAPTER  VII 


Bernard's  friends 


The  report  of  the  murder  caused  great  excitement 
in  London.  It  seemed  terrible  that  so  old  a  man,  and 
a  titled  man  at  that,  should  be  murdered  in  his  own 
house  and  by  his  profligate  grandson.  The  general 
opinion  was  that  Bernard  should  not  only  be  hanged, 
but  drawn  and  quartered,  as  his  crime  amounted  to  par- 
ricide. But  this  vengeful  demand  was  made  only  by 
the  extreme  people,  and  the  newspapers  were  on  the 
whole  very  fair  in  their  statements.  Although  it 
seemed  quite  certain  that  young  Gore  was  guilty,  yet 
the  journals  gave  him  the  benefit  of  the  doubt.  Not 
till  after  the  inquest  did  any  newspaper  venture  to  state 
that  the  man  had  really  committed  the  crime.  But 
this  was  as  it  should  be,  if  the  fair  play  instinct  of  the 
English  race  is  to  be  lived  up  to. 

Durham  attended  the  inquest  as  Sir  Simon's  lawyer 
and  executor,  and  Miss  Plantagenet  attended  it  with 
him.  She  saw  the  solicitor  only  for  a  few  minutes  and 
they  had  little  time  to  exchange  opinions.  But  Dur- 
ham assured  Miss  Bereuffaria  that  he  Avas  certain  Ber- 
nard  was  innocent,  upon  which  the  old  gentlewoman 
clapped  him  on  the  back.  Iler  good  opinion  was 
strengthened  at  the  inquest  by  the  sturdy  way  in  which 
the  lawyer  maintained  this  point. 

Beryl  was  also  present  with  Inspector  Groom.  He 
looked  pale  and  somewhat  worried,  and  when  his  eyes 


Bernard's  Friends  91 


fell  on  the  withered,  resolute  face  of  Miss  Berengaria, 
he  winced,  knowing  she  was  a  firm  friend  to  his  cousin. 
As  yet  the  body  of  the  young  man  had  not  been  found, 
and  both  Durham  and  Miss  Plantagenet  were  certain 
that  Bernard  was  still  alive.  But  the  general  opinion 
was  that  he  had  been  drowned  while  escaping.  Mrs. 
Gilroy  was  also  present  with  Lucy,  and  these  sat  in  the 
body  of  the  court  near  Miss  Berengaria.  That  old  dame 
knew  well  that  the  housekeeper  was  no  friend  to  the 
accused  man,  but  she  was  not  certain  as  regards  Lucy. 
As  Miss  Randolph  w^as  engaged  to  Beryl,  whom  Miss 
Berengaria  disliked  heartily,  she  was  prepared  to  think 
badly  of  the  girl,  going  by  the  proverb  that  like  draws 
to  like.  She  therefore  waited  to  hear  Lucy's  evidence 
before  speaking  to  her,  and  although  she  was  quite  near 
her  never  turned  her  head  to  look  or  make  any  sign  of 
recognition. 

Inspector  Groom,  who  was  called  first,  detailed  how 
he  had  been  summoned  in  to  see  the  dead  body  of  the 
baronet,  and  related  what  evidence  he  had  gathered, 
and  gave  also  the  names  of  the  witnesses  he  proposed 
to  call.  Amongst  these  were  Jane  and  the  cook,  also 
the  page,  for  these  three  domestics  had  frequently  seen 
the  soldier  who  had  courted  Jane,  and  who  was  believed 
to  be  Bernard  Gore.  Durham,  on  the  authority  of 
Bernard,  did  not  believe  this,  but  he  waited  his  time 
before  contradicting  the  evidence. 

After  Groom  came  a  doctor,  who  deposed  to  having 
examined  the  body,  and  gave  it  as  his  opinion  that  the 
deceased  had  been  strangled  some  time  after  ten 
o'clock.  Before  being  strangled  he  had  been  rendered 
unconscious  by  chloroform,  thus  had  fallen  an  easy  vic- 
tim to  the  assassin.     Mention  was  made  of  the  bandana 


92  The  Red  Window 

handkerchief  with  which  the  strangulation  had  been 
effected,  and  it  was  produced  in  court;  but  the  hand- 
kerchief steeped  in  chloroform  which  had  been  bound 
round  the  mouth  was  missing.  It  was  a  white  one  ac- 
cording to  the  evidence  of  the  housekeeper,  and  had 
been  loosened  from  the  mouth  by  Bernard  himself 
when  she  brought  him  up  to  look  on  his  victim.  Groom 
expressed  annoyance  at  this,  as  the  handkerchief  was  an 
important  piece  of  evidence.  Being  white  it  could  not 
have  belonged  to  the  deceased,  who  used  only  colored 
bandana  handkerchiefs.  Therefore  it  was  probable 
that  the  assassin  had  used  his  own,  and  the  name  on  the 
corner  would  have  settled  the  question  beyond  doubt. 
But  the  handkerchief  was  lost,  and  there  was  no  more 
to  be  said.  Groom  hoped  to  prove  Gore's  guilt  by  the 
evidence  of  his  other  witnesses. 

Julius  Beryl  deposed  that  Bernard  and  Sir  Simon 
were  at  variance,  and  Mrs.  Gilroy  gave  evidence  about 
the  quarrel  which  had  taken  place  at  the  Hall  when 
the  young  man  had  been  turned  away.  She  swore 
that  Bernard  then  made  use  of  threatening  language 
and  had  hinted  he  would  throw  his  grandfather  out  of 
the  window.  She  also  explained  the  cause  of  the  quar- 
rel and  the  name  of  Alice  was  mentioned,  much  to  the 
wrath  of  Miss  Plantagenet.  Afterwards  the  house- 
keeper went  on  to  state  that  Bernard  had  visited  in 
Crimea  Square.  She  had  never  seen  him,  as  he  was 
always  smuggled  out  of  sight  by  Jane  when  she  was 
heard  approaching  the  kitchen.  But  on  the  night  of 
the  murder  Gore  had  presented  himself  at  the  door 
after  ten  o'clock  and  had  intimated  that  Sir  Simon 
desired  to  see  him,  having  sent  down  a  message  to  the 
kitchen  to  that  effect. 


Bej^nard's  Friends  93 


Coroner:  "  Who  carried  the  message?  " 
Mrs.  Gilroy:  "The  page,  William.  Mr.  Gore  was 
alarmed  and  left  the  house  at  once,  refusing  to  come 
up.  Afterwards  he  had  apparently  changed  his  mind, 
for  he  came  to  the  door.  I  took  him  up  to  Sir  Simon 
and  left  them  alone." 

Coroner:  "  Did  you  see  the  meeting?  " 
Mrs.  Gilroy:  "  N'o.  I  pushed  Mr.  Gore  into  the 
room  then  went  down  to  wait.  But  I  think  Sir  Simon 
was  disposed  to  be  friendly.  Mr.  Gore  remained  up- 
stairs for  about  fifteen  minutes,  then  left  the  house 
hurriedly.  I  saw  him  go  out  of  the  door.  I  called 
after  him.  He  did  not  answer.  I  then  ran  upstairs, 
and  found  Sir  Simon  dead,  I  came  down  again  and 
ran  out  in  pursuit  of  Mr.  Gore,  crying  out,  '  Murder!  ' 
He  was  almost  on  the  doorstep  and  came  into  the  house 
with  me.  He  denied  that  he  had  killed  his  grandfather 
and  loosened  the  two  handkerchiefs.  Then  the  police 
came  and  he  escaped." 

She  persisted  in  her  statements,  and  said  calmly  that 
young  Gore  had  certainly  killed  the  old  man.  At  the 
interview  at  the  Hall,  she  had  heard  him  use  the  Avord 
"  strangle,"  and  Sir  Simon  had  been  murdered  in  that 
way. 

Lucy  Randolph  also  gave  CAadence  as  to  the  quarrel. 
"  Bernard  had  a  fiery  temper,"  she  said,  weeping,  "  and 
when  Sir  Simon  spoke  badly  of  Miss  Malleson,  he 
threatened  to  throw  Sir  Simon  out  of  the  window.  I 
did  not  hear  him  use  the  word  strangle.  I  never  saw 
him  when  he  came  to  the  kitchen  at  Crimea  Square, 
and  it  was  only  two  days  before  the  murder  that  Mrs. 
Gilroy  recognized  him  by  the  description  given  by  the 
housemaid.     I  am  quite  friendly  with  Bernard." 


94  The  Red  JVindow 


This  evidence  led  to  that  of  Jane,  the  housemaid. 
She  was  shown  a  photograph  of  Gore  and  swore  posi- 
tively that  it  was  the  face  of  the  young  soldier  who  had 
courted  her.  Before  Sir  Simon  came  to  Crimea  Square 
she  had  met  him  in  the  Park.  lie  was  in  the  uniform 
of  the  newly-formed  Imperial  Yeomanry.  He  made 
love  to  her,  and  asked  if  he  might  come  to  the  house. 
He  also  seemed  to  be  very  inquisitive  about  Sir  Simon. 
He  came  many  times,  and  w^as  introduced  to  the  cook. 
Also  William,  the  page,  saw  him.  He  called  himself 
Bernard,  nothing  more,  and  did  not  make  use  of  his 
name  of  Gore.  Whenever  Mrs.  Gilroy  was  heard  com- 
ing he  always  hid  himself.  He  seemed  afraid  to  meet 
her.  Both  witness  and  cook  connived  at  the  conceal- 
ment as  they  feared  the  rebuke  of  the  housekeeper. 
On  the  night  of  the  crime  a  message  came  from  Sir 
Simon  by  the  page,  WilHam,  asking  Bernard  to  step 
upstairs.  He  displayed  great  alarm,  and  went  aw^ay  at 
once,  saying  he  might  return  to  see  Sir  Simon  after  ten. 
Witness  gave  other  evidence,  but  the  important  point 
was,  that  she  identified  the  pliotograph  as  that  of  Ber- 
nard Gore.     Also  the  name  was  the  same. 

The  cook  and  the  page  also  identified  the  photograph 
as  that  of  Mr.  Gore.  Evidence  was  then  given  by  an 
officer  of  the  Imperial  Yeomanry  as  to  Gore  calling 
himself  Bernard  alone.  He  was  known  as  Corporal 
Bernard.  On  the  night  of  the  murder  he  had  obtained 
leave  of  absence  to  dine  with  a  friend  and  had  left 
the  barracks  before  five.  It  was  between  five  and  six, 
according  to  the  cook,  that  Bernard  was  in  the  kitchen. 
Bernard,  added  the  officer,  was  not  expected  back  till 
close  on  midnight.  Since  then  nothing  had  been  heard 
of  him. 


Ber7iard's  Friends  95 

Durham  then  stepped  into  the  box  and  stated  that 
Gore  had  dined  with  him  at  his  house  on  Camden  Hill. 
There  was  another  mutual  friend  j)resent.  Bernard 
had  arrived  at  seven  at  the  house  and  had  left  it  at  ten 
o'clock.  Witness  produced  Sir  Simon's  letter  stating 
that  Gore  was  courting  the  housemaid  Jane.  But 
Durham  swore  that  Bernard  had  denied  this,  and  said 
that  he  had  not  been  near  the  house.  "  Indeed/' 
added  the  witness,  "  he  did  not  know  the  whereabouts 
of  the  house  till  I  told  him." 

Coroner:  "  Then  he  must  have  gone  from  your  house 
direct  to  Crimea  Square." 

Durham:  "  I  can't  understand  why  he  should  do  so. 
He  had  no  intention  of  going,  and  certainly  he  had  no 
idea  of  killing  Sir  Simon.  I  am  quite  convinced  that 
he  is  innocent." 

This  expression  produced  incredulous  smiles,  as  by 
this  time  everyone  present  was  certain  that  Gore  was 
the  culprit.  Thanks  to  Durham's  representations  Dick 
West  {alias  Lord  Conniston)  was  not  called.  It  is 
needless  to  say  that  the  real  name  of  this  witness  was 
not  known.  Had  it  been  public  the  Coroner  would 
have  doubtless  insisted  on  his  production,  if  only  to 
swell  the  scandal  of  the  case  by  the  addition  of  a  title. 

In  summing  up  the  Coroner  was  quite  on  the  side 
of  the  prosecution  and  public  opinion  was  with  him. 
He  pointed  out  that  the  evidence  of  the  cook,  the 
housemaid,  the  page  and  the  officer  all  showed  that 
Bernard  Gore  and  Corporal  Bernard  were  one  and 
the  same.  Also  there  was  the  evidence  of  Mrs.  Gilroy, 
who  opened  the  door  at  ten  oclock  to  the  man  himself. 
Without  doubt  Gore  was  the  person  who  had  called 
to  see  his  grandfather.     As  to  the  motive  for  the  com- 


96  The  Red  JVindow 

mission  of  the  crime,  the  jury  could  see  for  themselves 
that  there  was  a  strong  one..  Mr.  Beryl's  evidence 
showed  that  a  bitter  quarrel  existed,  and  this  was  con- 
firmed both  by  Miss  Randolph  and  Mrs.  Gilroy.  Even 
the  word  "  strangled  "  had  been  used,  and  in  that  way 
Sir  Simon  had  met  with  his  death.  Without  doubt  Gore, 
furious  at  being  disinherited,  had  called  to  see  Sir  Si- 
mon, to  see  if  he  could  be  reinstated.  Doubtless,  as 
both  had  fiery  tempers,  a  quarrel  had  taken  place,  and 
then  the  younger  man,  having  rendered  the  older  one 
unconscious  by  means  of  chloroform,  had  murdered 
him.  It  was  certainly  inexplicable  that  he  should  have 
returned  to  the  house,  but  then  the  jury  must  take 
into  consideration  that  perhaps  Gore  thought  such  a 
bold  course  might  prove  his  innocence.  Finally,  his 
escape  showed  that  he  was  guilty,  as  had  he  been  an 
innocent  man,  he  would  have  faced  the  matter  out.  It 
would  seem  that  the  criminal  was  dead.  He  had  fallen 
into  the  hands  of  God,  and  thus  had  not  escaped  pun- 
ishment. But  on  the  facts  before  them  the  jury  would 
have  to  give  their  verdict. 

Biased  both  by  the  evidence  and  by  the  Coroner's 
speech,  the  jury  brought  in  a  verdict  of  guilty  against 
Bernard  Gore.  Durham  expected  the  verdict  and  so 
did  Miss  Plantagcnet,  but  both  of  them,  being  Ber- 
nard's firm  friends,  felt  a  pang  when  they  heard  him 
thus  condemned  of  wilful  murder. 

"  Fools,"  said  Miss  Berengaria,  as  she  drove  back  in 
her  brougham  with  Durham  to  the  office  of  the  lawyer. 

"  I  don't  think  that,"  expostulated  Durham.  "  Un- 
der the  circumstances  the  jury  could  hardly  bring  in  a 
different  verdict." 

"  You  know  that  Bernard  is  innocent,"  snapped  the 
lady. 


Bernard's  Friends  97 

"  Certainly!    But  on  the  evidence  before  them — " 

"A  fig  for  the  evidence!"  interrupted  Miss  Beren- 
garia.  "  I  go  by  my  own  knowledge  of  the  boy.  He 
wouldn't  kill  a  fly." 

"  Ah!  But  you  see,  the  men  on  the  jury  never  met 
Bernard." 

Finding  the  lawyer  too  strong  for  her,  Miss  Beren- 
garia  changed  the  subject,  being  determined  not  to 
acknowledge  defeat.  "  Have  you  heard  from  young 
Gore?"  she  asked. 

"  ISTo.    He  may  be  drowned  for  all  I  know." 

"  For  all  you  know,  and  you  know  nothing." 

"  More's  the  pity,  Miss  Plantagenet.  Did  I  know 
anything  I  might  be  able  to  satisfy  myself  that  Gore 
is  alive." 

"  Of  course  he  is  alive." 

"  On  what  ground  do  you  say  that?  "  asked  Durham, 
surprised. 

"  On  the  grounds  of  common  sense.  Bernard  is  not 
the  man  to  die  when  his  living  is  needed  to  prove  his 
innocence." 

This  was  so  truly  a  feminine  argument  that  Durham, 
with  a  shrug,  held  his  tongue.  "  There's  no  more  to 
be  said,"  he  remarked. 

"  I  know  that,"  snapped  Miss  Berengaria  in  a  bad 
humor.  "  I  am  quite  upset  by  all  the  rubbish  those 
fools  have  been  talking.     What's  to  be  done  next?" 

"  I  shall  go  down  to  Gore  Hall  and  read  the  will." 

"Ha!  "  said  the  old  lady,  brightly.  "  Can  you  do 
that  until  you  are  sure  of  the  death  of  Bernard?" 

"  Yes.    He  may  be  dead  after  all — " 

"  He  isn't,  I  tell  you." 

"  Then  it  is  all  the  better  he  should  be  thought  to 


98  The  Bed  Windoxv 

be  so,"  said  Durham,  giving  up  tlie  point  in  the  face  of 
this  firm  opposition. 

"  Why?"  asked  Miss  Berengaria  promptly. 

"  Because  no  search  will  be  made  for  Gore  should 
he  be  alive  and  in  hiding.  Yet  I  fear  Beryl  will 
search." 

"  I  don't  see  why  he  should.  Oh,  I  see  what  you 
mean.  Sir  Simon,  the  horrid  old —  Well,  we'll  say 
nothing  about  that.  But  he  has  left  the  money  to  Beryl, 
after  disinheriting  Bernard  for  keeping  faith  with  my 
poor  Alice." 

"  Not  exactly  that,"  said  Durham,  hesitating.  "  I 
can't  tell  you  the  contents  of  the  will,  Miss  Plantagenet, 
as—" 

"  I  know,"  she  snapped.  "  You  needn't  tell  me  that. 
I'll  come  to  the  Hall  and  hear  it  read.  But,  of  course, 
I  know  it  already." 

"  In  that  case  there's  no  more  to  be  said,'"  replied 
the  solicitor,  suppressing  a  smile.  Miss  Berengaria 
saw  it. 

"Ha!  "  said  she,  sharply  and  pondering.  "  So  Ber- 
nard's not  disinherited  after  all." 

"  I  never  said  so." 

"  You  smiled.  That's  quite  enough  for  me.  '  A 
nod's  as  good  as  a  wink  to  a  blind  horse.'  Not  that 
I'm  a  horse  or  blind.  Thank  God  I  have  my  eyesight 
and  can  read  print  with  glasses.  Well,  keep  your  pro- 
fessional secrets,  but  tell  me  this:  Will  Beryl — the 
deuce  take  him — hunt  for  Bernard?  " 

"  Not  if  he  thinks  he  is  drowned,  as  is  probable,"  said 
Durham,  rather  surprised  at  hearing  strong  language 
from  the  lips  of  the  lady. 

"And  if  he  thinks  otherwise?" 


a 


Bernard's  Friends  99 

"  He  will  certainly  hunt,"  replied  the  lawyer  deter- 
minedly. 

Ha!  "   said  Miss  Berengaria,    rubbing  her  nose. 

So  that's  it,  is  it  ?" 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Miss  Plantagenet  ?" 

"  That  Bernard  has  not  been  disinherited.  That 
old  scamp — no,  we  must  talk  better  of  him — that  the 
good  old  man  who  is  dead  repented  and  left  the  money 
to  his  rightful  heir.  What  a  joke  !"  Miss  Berengaria 
chuckled.  "There!  there!"  she  went  on,  catching 
Durham's  eyes.  "  It's  all  right.  You  have  told  me 
nothing.  I  can  guess.  Well,  well,  we  must  wait  till 
the  will  is  read.  Then  we  shall  see  what  is  to  be  done 
to  prove  Bernard's  innocence." 

"  That  will  be  a  hard  task,"  said  Durham,  with  a 
sigh;  then  added,  with  some  little  hesitation,  "Miss 
Plantagenet,  should  Beryl  make  advances  to  you  in  the 
way  of  friendship  receive  them." 

"  Hum,"  said  the  lady.    "  I  detest  the  fellow." 

"  But  for  Bernard's  sake — " 

"  What  plan  have  you  in  your  head  ?"  she  asked 
sharply  and  peering  into  his  troubled  face. 

"  None.  But  I  think  that  after  the  reading  of  the 
will—" 

Miss  Plantagenet  chuckled.  "  After  the  reading — 
well  ?" 

"  Beryl  may  make  advances  to  you." 

"  I  will  recive  them.  But  if  he  thinks  I  will  tell 
him  where  Bernard  is  to  be  found  he  is  mistaken." 

"  You  don't  know  where  he  is,  or  if  he  is  alive," 
said  Durham,  astonished  to  find  how  quickly  she  fath- 
omed his  thoughts. 

"  True  enough.    But  I  will  know  before  many  days 


100  The  Red  Jl^uidow 

are  over  my  head.  I  quite  expect  that  Bernard  will  coin- 
inimicate  with  Alice,  and  of  course  she  wall  tell  me.  As 
Beryl  wall  find  that  the  money  is  left  to — " 

"  I  did  not  say  that,"  interrupted  Durham,  quickly, 
as  the  brougham  stopped  at  the  office  door. 

"  To  Bernard,"  went  on  ]\liss  Berengaria,  coolly, 
"  he  will  try  and  learn  if  he  is  dead  or  alive.  If  dead 
he  will — no,  I  can't  say  what  he  will  do  as  I  don't 
know  if  the  money,  failing  Bernard,  is  left  to  him. 
But  if  he  thinks  Bernard  is  alive  he  will  hunt  him  down 
so  as  to  get  the  money." 

Durham  stepped  out  of  the  brougham  rather  afraid 
of  the  old  dame.  She  was  so  clever  that  she  seemed  to 
read  his  most  secret  thoughts.  He  was  glad  the  drive 
was  at  an  end,  and  held  out  his  hand  to  say  good-bye. 
To  his  surprise  and  vexation  Miss  Berengaria  stepped 
out  at  his  heels.  "  I'm  coming  in  to  talk,"  she  said, 
and  marched  up  the  steps.  I  go  down  to-night  to 
Hurseton,  and  I  want  to  arrange  what  is  to  be  done, 
liot  a  word,  young  man.  I  am  Bernard's  friend  and  so 
are  you.  If  we  don't  combine  it's  all  up  with  the  poor 
fool."  Durham  followed  the  energetic  lady  with  a  feel- 
ing of  helplessness,  not  knowing  very  well  how  to  get 
rid  of  her.  And  he  had  particular  reasons  for  not 
having  her  in  the  office.  Conniston  was  coming  to 
see  him,  and  a  meeting  between  him  and  his  aunt  might 
be  productive  of  trouble.  Not  that  Miss  Plantagenet 
was  his  aunt,  as  she  was  only  a  distant  relative.  But 
she  always  styled  herself  so,  and  would  answer  to  no 
other  term.  Durham  regretted  that  he  had  accepted 
the  lady's  offer  to  be  driven  to  his  office.  But  it  was 
too  late  by  this  time,  for  Miss  Berengaria  was  in  the 
room.  And  in  the  room  also  sat  Lord  Conniston,  now 
out  of  uniform,  and  looking  much  excited. 


Bernard's  Friends  101 

"Ha!"  said  Miss  Plantagenet,  not  recognizing  tlie 
young  man,  "  and  who  is  this?  "  She  turned  to  Dur- 
ham, who  shot  past  her,  making  a  sign  of  silence  to 
his  friend. 

"  A  client  of  mine.  "Will  you  leave  us  for  a  moment, 
Conniston  ?" 

The  name  slipped  out  before  he  was  aware,  and  he 
could  have  stamped  with  vexation  to  see  how  quickly 
Miss  Berengaria  grasped  the  situation.  With  a  grim 
smile  she  looked  at  the  astonished  young  man.  "  So 
you  are  Dick,"  she  said  looking  at  him  through  a  double 
eyeglass.  "  I  haven't  seen  you  since  you  made  yourself 
sick  in  my  garden.  Bernard  told  Alice  by  letter  that 
he  met  you.    Where  are  you  staying?  " 

"  I  don't  understand,"  stammered  Conniston,  while 
Durham,  giving  up  Miss  Plantagenet  as  impossible,  sat 
shuffling  his  papers. 

"  You  ought  not  to  be  dense.  Don't  you  remember 
me  boxing  your  ears  ?" 

Conniston  burst  out  laughing.  "  Oh  !  by  Jove  !  It's 
Cousin  Berengaria." 

"  Aunt  Berengaria,"  reproved  Miss  Plantagenet, 
giving  him  her  hand.  "  I  don't  like  league-long  names. 
Come  and  sit  down  and  tell  me  all  about  yourself." 

"  Miss  Plantagenet,"  said  Durham,  hastily.  "  Lord 
Conniston  and  I  have  met  to  talk  of  Bernard." 

"  Then  I'll  form  a  third,"  said  the  old  lady,  sitting. 
"  Dick — I  shall  call  you  Dick,"  she  interpolated — "  you 
are  Bernard's  friend,  as  his  letter  to  Alice  was  all  about 
you.    Are  you  going  to  desert  him  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Conniston,  taking  her  entirely  into  his 
confidence.  "  I  have  chucked  the  service  to  see  him 
through  his  trouble." 


102  The  Red  Window 

"  Chucked  what  service  ?" 

"  The  armj.  I  was  going  to  the  front.  But  I'll 
stop  till  I  prove  the  innocence  of  Bernard,  Aunt  Beren- 
garia." 

"  You  don't  know  that  he  is  alivo,  Conniston,"  said 
the  lawyer. 

"Ah,  but  I  do,"  replied  Dick.  "Here's  a  letter 
from  Bernard.  He  is  safe  and  sound  hiding  at  Cove 
Castle." 


CHAPTER  Vni 


beknakd's  enemies. 


The  deceased  baronet  was  buried  in  the  family  vault 
under  St.  Peter's  Church,  with  all  the  pomp  of  wealth. 
Sir  Simon  had  never  been  popular,  and  had  been  known 
widely  as  a  hard,  gripping  man.  Yet  his  tragic  fate, 
and  a  certain  pity  therefore,  had  drawn  together  a  large 
concourse  of  people.  Distant  relatives  who  hoped  to 
be  mentioned  in  the  will  were  present  clothed  in  deep- 
est black,  although  they  cared  very  little  for  the  dead. 
Julius,  who  already  regarded  himself  as  in  possession 
of  Gore  Hall,  was  there  with  a  long  face  and  a  satisfied 
heart.  He  was  glad  that  he  had  inherited  the  wealth 
after  which  he  had  long  hungered,  and  gladder  still  that 
his  rival,  Bernard,  was  dead  with  a  stain  on  his  name. 
In  fancied  security  he  moved  along,  not  knowing  what 
retribution  was  in  store  for  him.  Even  the  pitying 
angels  must  have  laughed  at  his  complacency. 

Durham,  as  the  solicitor  and  executor  of  the  dead 
man,  was  present  and  directed  operations.  Conniston 
had  gone  to  Cove  Castle  to  see  Bernard  and  hear  his 
story;  and  Durham  smiled  as  his  eyes  rested  on  the 
smug  face  of  the  presumed  heir.  There  was  no  love 
lost  between  the  two  men,  and  Julius  privately  deter- 
mined that,  when  in  possession  of  the  property,  he 
would  place  the  legal  business  in  the  hands  of  another 
solicitor.  The  young  lawyer  guessed  somewhat  of  this, 
and  smiled  ironically  as  he  thought  how  this  spite 
would  be  frustrated, 


104  The  Red  TVindow 

From  far  and  near  people  were  gathered,  for  the 
murder  had  made  a  great  stir.  Everyone  united  in 
condemning  Bernard,  and  not  one  person  in  the  throng 
thought  him  innocent.  Lucj  Avas  weeping  alone  at  the 
Hall,  with  Mrs.  Gilroy  offering  her  such  cold  comfort 
as  she  could  think  of.  For  the  girl  was  truly  sorry 
for  her  cousin,  although  she  believed  him  to  be  guilty. 
But  her  theory  was  that  Bernard  had  been  goaded  into 
committing  the  rash  act  by  the  bitter  tongue  of  his 
grandfather.  It  was  a  matter  of  disagreement  between 
her  and  Julius  that  she  should  so  mourn  the  downfall 
and  death  of  Bernard.  He  reprovingly  advised  her  to 
keep  her  tears  for  Sir  Simon,  from  whose  death  both 
were  likely  to  derive  benefit.  But  Lucy,  in  spite  of 
Beryl's  evil  influence,  which  had  rather  warped  her 
better  nature,  persisted  in  weeping  for  the  miserable 
cousin  who  had  so  suddenly  been  cut  off  in  the  midst 
of  his  wickedness.  At  least  that — in  the  face  of  cir- 
cumstances— was  the  view  she  took  of  the  matter. 

And  Alice  remained  at  The  Bower,  talking  over  the 
death  with  Miss  Plantagenet.  Her  joy,  when  the  old 
lady  returned  with  the  good  news  that  Bernard  was  yet 
alive,  had  been  painful  to  witness.  She  wished  to  go 
at  once  to  Cove  Castle,  but  this  Miss  Berengaria,  by 
Durham's  advice  ,would  not  permit.  Suspicion  miglit 
be  excited,  so  it  was  decided  that  Conniston  himself 
should  visit  his  own  castle,  as  that  would  sem  a  natural 
thing  for  him  to  do.  The  merest  suspicion  that  Ber- 
nard was  alive  and  in  hiding  would  set  the  bloodhovmds 
of  the  law  on  the  trail,  and  Beryl  would  be  the  first 
to  loosen  them.  Therefore,  Alice  waited  at  home  with 
Miss  Berengaria  until  the  funeral  was  over.  Then 
they  intended  to  go  to  the  Hall  to  hear  the  will  read. 


Bernard's  Enemies  105 


Miss  Berengaria  liad  some  idea  of  the  punishment  that 
awaited  Julius,  and  would  not  have  been  absent  for 
half  of  her  income.  She  detested  the  young  man  with 
all  the  virulence  of  her  honest  nature.  And  she  insisted 
on  Alice  coming  also,  although  the  girl  was  unw^illing. 
This  again  was  by  Durham's  advice.  He  wanted  both 
ladies  to  understand  exactly  how  matters  stood.  It 
would  save  him  the  trouble  of  an  explanation.  And 
then,  since  he  and  the  two  ladies  and  Conniston  were 
bent  upon  proving  Bernard's  innocence,  Durham 
wanted  all  who  could  be  spared — which  did  not  include 
Conniston  to  be  present,  so  as  to  daunt  Bernard's 
enemies.  Should  Julius  lose  his  temper  over  the  will, 
it  was  probable  that  he  might  say  something  likely  to 
afford  a  clue  to  the  true  assassin.  And  then  Mrs.  Gil- 
roy  was  an  enemy  also,  and  she  might  be  unguarded 
in  her  spech.  Durham  had  a  vague  idea  that  both 
knew  more  than  they  admitted.  As  to  Lucy,  it  was 
impossible  to  say  whether  she  was  friendly  or  hostile. 

Sir  Simon's  body  was  duly  interred,  and  he  left  all 
his  wealth  behind  him  to  tak  up  his  abode  in  the  dark 
vault.  After  the  service  several  people  lingered  in  the 
graveyard,  but  the  majority,  thinking  the  spectacle  w^as 
at  an  end,  made  haste  to  go.  Julius  with  Durham  re- 
turned in  the  carriage,  and  the  rest  of  the  relatives 
followed,  flocking  like  vultures  to  the  feast.  While  in 
the  carriage  Durham  thought  he  w^ould  see  if  Julius 
suspected  that  Bernard  had  escaped. 

"  You  have  not  heard  if  Gore's  body  has  been 
found  ?"  he  asked. 

"  ]l^o,"  said  Beryl,  raising  his  pale  eyes  and  looking 
as  sad  as  any  owl.     "  T  fear  he  is  dead  in  his  sin." 

"  You  can't  be  sure  if  he  did  sin,  Mr.  Beryl." 

"  The  jury  thought  so," 


106  The  Red  IVindow 


*'  A  jury  is  not  always  infallible  !" 

"  I  think  the  case  had  a  fair  hearing,  Mr.  Durham. 
So  far  as  I  am  concerned  I  should  have  been  pleased 
had  the  verdict  been  otherwise.  It  is  not  pleasant  for 
me  to  have  a  relative  accused  of  such  a  crime.  But 
since  he  is  dead  let  his  evil  rest  with  him.  You  will  not 
hear  me  say  a  word  against  his  memory,"  added  the 
virtuous  Julius. 

"  Perhaps  it  will  be  as  well,"  replied  Durham,  dryly. 
"  You  never  were  a  friend  of  Bernard's." 

"  All  the  more  praise  to  me  that  I  should  not  run 
him  down." 

"  Tell  me.  Beryl,  do  you  really  believe  he  committed 
the  crime  ?" 

"  I  answered  that  indirectly  before.  Yes,  I  believe 
he  was  guilty." 

"  Then  it  is  just  as  well  he  is  dead." 

"  Just  as  well,"  asserted  Beryl,  quickly. 

"  You  don't  think  he  can  have  escaped  ?" 

Julius  started.  "  What  makes  you  think  so  ?"  he 
demanded  uneasily. 

"  Well,  you  see,  Bernard  was  a  good  swunmer, 
and—" 

"  The  best  swimmer  in  the  world  could  do  nohting 
against  the  current  of  the  Thames  on  a  foggy  night. 
On  a  fine  day  I  dare  say  he  might  have  gained  the  op- 
posite bank,  but  in  the  fog  he  must  have  circled  round 
and  round  until  he  was  exhausted." 

"  Yet,  his  clothes  were  discovered  on  the  bank,"  per- 
sisted Durham.  "I  wonder  if  I  offered  a  reward, 
would  anything  be  discovered  ?" 

"  His  corpse  might,"  said  Beryl,  unpleasantly,  "  but 
no  reward  shall  be  offered.  Better  let  sleeping  dogs 
lie." 


Bernard's  Enemies  107 

"  But  surely,  Mr.  Beryl,  if  you  inherit  the  property, 
you  will  seek  for  the  poor  fellow's  dead  body  ?" 

"  'Eo"  replied  Julius  decisively.  "  I  think  it  is  best 
to  leave  things  alone.  Bernard  committed  a  vile  act, 
and  if  his  body  has  been  swept  out  to  sea  all  the  better 
for  his  memory  and  the  position  of  the  family.  I 
shall  offer  no  reward." 

Durham,  seeing  the  young  man  was  absolutely  cer- 
tain of  his  inheritance,  and  that  he  was  prepared  to  act 
in  a  most  niggardly  spirit,  looked  out  of  the  window  to 
hide  a  smile.     "  Poor  Sir  Bernard,"  he  said. 

"  Sir  Bernard  ?"  questioned  the  supposed  heir,  rais- 
ing his  eyebrows. 

"  Certainly.  On  the  death  of  Sir  Simon,  Bernard 
took  the  title  !" 

"  He  hasn't  enjoyed  it  long,"  said  Beryl,  with  so 
villainous  a  sneer  that  the  lawyer  longed  to  pitch  him 
out  of  the  carriage,  "  and  seeing  he  is  dead  I  suppose 
the  title  becomes  extinct." 

"  It  does,"  assented  Durham  gravely.  "  Bernard 
w^as  the  only  heir  in  the  direct  line." 

Julius  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Well,  I'll  be  quite 
content  with  the  money,"  said  he. 

"  Here  we  are,"  said  Durham,  as  the  carriage  stop- 
ped. "  By  the  way,  Miss  Plantagcnet  and  Miss  Mal- 
leson  have  come  to  hear  the  \nll  read.  I  hope  you 
don't  object." 

''  Yes,  I  do,"  retorted  Beryl,  angrily,  as  he  alighted. 
"  They  would  have  shown  better  taste  had  they  re- 
mained away." 

"  But  remember  Miss  Malleson  has  lost  Bernard." 

"  All  the  better  for  her.  She  would  have  had  a 
miserable  life  with  that  fellow." 


108  The  Red  Window 

Durham  suppressed  a  violent  inclination  to  punch 
the  man's  head,  but,  knowing  what  punishment  awaited, 
him,  he  walked  up  tine  steps  with  a  contemptuous 
'smile.  Here  was  a  change  indeed  from  the  meek 
Julius  of  the  old  days.  This  presumed  heir  was  ob- 
noxious and  insolent,  thinking  he  was  absolutely  certain 
of  entering  into  his  kingdom.  The  lawyer  was  by 
no  means  a  vindictive  person,  but  it  afforded  him  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  satisfaction  when  he  thought  of  the 
irony  of  the  situation. 

However,  when  Julius  reached  the  drawing  room, 
in  which  those  invited  to  hear  the  will  read  were  as- 
sembled, he  adopted  a  more  conciliatory  manner.  Sev- 
eral relatives  were  present,  and  Mrs.  Gilroy  headed 
the  servants  at  the  end  of  the  room.  Miss  Bercnsraria 
sat  beside  Alice  in  a  recess  somewhat  screened  by  the 
window  curtain.  But  Lucy  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 
However,  when  Durham  took  his  seat  at  a  small  table 
and  opened  his  bag,  she  entered  in  deep  mourning. 
Julius  went  to  meet  her. 

"  Dear  Lucy,"  he  said,  "  wo  have  buried  our  best 
friend." 

Lucy  made  no  reply,  and,  drawing  her  hand  away, 
walked  to  where  Alice  was  seated.  She  kissed  the  girl, 
whom  Bernard  had  loved,  in  silenc(3;  and  in  silence 
was  the  kiss  returned.  Even  Miss  Berengaria,  voluble 
as  she  Avas  on  all  occasions,  held  her  peace.  She  saw 
that  Lucy  was  sincerely  sorry  for  the  loss  of  her 
cousin,  and  from  that  moment  she  entertained  a  better 
opinion  of  her.  Alice  drew  Lucy  into  a  seat  beside  her, 
and  the  two  girls  sat  side  by  side,  while  Julius,  already 
assuming  the  airs  of  a  master^  bade  the  company  wel- 
come. 


Bernard's  Enemies  109 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  all,"  he  said  in  an  important 
voice,  "  and  I  am  sure  that  our  deceased  relative  in 
his  will  has  done  all  that  his  kind  heart  inspired  him  to 
do.    Mr.  Durham  will  now  read  the  will." 

When  he  sat  down  some  of  the  relatives  smiled  at 
the  phrase  about  a  kind  heart,  for  which  the  late  bar-, 
onet  had  been  in  no  wise  remarkable.  Durham  took 
no  notice  of  Beryl's  little  speech,  but  opened  the  will 
and  began  to  read.  Julius  listened  with  a  complacent 
smile,  which  changed  as  the  reading  w^ent  on. 

Legacies  were  left  to  nearly  all  the  servants  who 
had  been  ^vith  the  testator  a  long  time.  Lucy  became 
entitled  to  three  hundred  a  year,  and  Mrs.  Gilroy  re- 
ceived one  hundred.  The  sum  alloted  to  her  did  not 
satisfy  her,  as  she  frowned  when  it  was  mentioned. 
Beryl's  name  was  not  mentioned,  but  he  did  not  mind 
as  he  was  waiting  for  the  disposal  of  the  residue  of 
the  estate.  But  when  Durham  read  out  that  the  estate 
had  been  left  entirely  to  Bernard  Gore,  with  the  ex- 
ceptions of  the  above-named  legacies,  he  started  to  his 
feet. 

"  That  is  not  the  will  !"  he  exclaimed  loudly,  and 
with  a  ghastly  white  face.     "  I  am  the  heir." 

"  By  a  former  will,"  interposed  Durham,  "  or, 
rather,  I  should  say,  by  a  will  which  Sir  Simon  after- 
wards destroyed." 

"  He  disinherited  Bernard!  "  cried  Julius  savagely. 

"  No !  the  will — this  will — which  gives  Mr.  Gore  the 
money  was  never  cancelled." 

"  A  new  will  was  prepared  leaving  all  to  me.  You 
read  it  to  me  yourself  in  your  office  and  in  the  presence 
of  Sir  Simon." 

"  Quite  so,"  rejoined  the  lawyer,  smoothly  folding 


110  The  Red  JVindow 

up  the  parchment ;  "  but  after  you  left,  Sir  Simon,  re- 
fusing to  execute  that  will,  put  it  into  the  fire." 

"  It  is  a  lie  !" 

"  It  is  the  truth,"  said  Durham,  his  color  rising.  "  I 
can  bring  forward  nij  clerks  who  were  to  witness  the 
new  mil,  and  they  will  state  that  it  was  never  executed. 
Sir  Simon  changed  his  mind.  The  estate  goes  to  Sir 
Bernard  Gore,  the  new  baronet,  and  as  the  executor  of 
the  will,  I  will  take  charge  of  all  monies  and  of  the 
property  until  he  comes  forward  to  claim  them." 

"  But  you  know  he  is  dead,"  said  Julius,  clenching 
his  hand. 

"  I  know  nothing  of  the  sort.  He  is  supposed  to  be 
dead,  but  we  must  have  proof  of  the  death.  A  produc- 
tion of  his  body  will  be  sufficient,  Mr.  Beryl,"  added 
Durham,  cynically.  "  I  think  on  your  own  account 
you  had  better  offer  that  reward  I  spoke  of." 

"  You  have  been  playing  the  fool  with  me,"  said 
Julius,  hardly  able  to  speak  for  passion. 

"  1^0,  I  advised  you  what  to  do  !" 

"  One  moment,"  said  a  precise  man  who  had  not 
been  mentioned  in  the  will.  "  If  young  Gore  really 
is  dead — which  I  for  one,  hope  is  not  the  case — who 
inherits  the  money  ?" 

"  There  is  a  codicil  to  that  effect,"  said  Durham, 
"  which  I  had  intended  to  read  when  interrupted  by 
Mr.  Beryl."  He  re-opened  the  parchment.  "  In  it 
Sir  Simon  leaves  the  property  to  charity  with  the  ex- 
ception of  any  legacies.  This  in  the  event  of  Bernard 
Gore  making  no  wdll.  But  the  property  has  been  left 
unreservedly  to  him,  and,  should  he  be  alive,  he  has 
the  power  to  will  it  to  whomsoever  he  wishes." 

And  if  he  is  dead  the  property  goes  to  a  charity." 


a 


BernarcVs  Enemies  111 

"  Yes  !  I  will  read  the  codicil  !"  and  this  Durham 
did  to  the  dismay  of  the  company.  Only  Miss  Beren- 
garia  chuckled.  She  was  delighted  to  see  that  Beryl 
had  been  punished,  and  smiled  when  she  thought  how 
correct  had  been  her  guess  when  talking  to  the  lawyer. 
As  for  Alice,  remembering  that  Bernard  was  alive  and 
well,  she  found  it  hard  to  contain  her  satisfaction  that 
he  had  been  fairly  dealt  with.  Even  the  thought  of  the 
crime,  under  the  ban  of  which  he  lay,  faded  for  the 
moment  from  her  mind.  Julius,  with  a  certain  malig- 
nancy, brought  it  back  to  her  recollection. 

"  Even  if  Bernard  is  not  dead  he  cannot  inherit  as  a 
felon,"  said  he. 

"  Pardon  me,"  interposed  the  lawyer.  "  You  have 
yet  to  prove  his  guilt." 

"  It  was  proved  at  the  inquest." 

"  A  jury  at  an  inquest  has  not  the  right  to  condemn 
a  man,"  said  Durham,  sharply.  "  If  Sir  Bernard  " — 
Julius  winced  at  the  title — ''  is  alive  and  comes  for- 
ward, I  shall  do  my  best  to  prove  his  innocence." 

"  And  in  any  case,"  said  Miss  Berengaria  in  clear 
tones,  "  Mr.  Beryl  does  not  benefit." 

Julius  turned  on  her  with  fury,  and  seemed  on  the 
point  of  breaking  out  into  wrathful  speech.  But  his 
habitual  dissimulation  came  to  his  aid,  and  he  sup- 
pressed himself.  More  than  that,  he  attempted  to 
smile. 

"  I  don't  say  that  I  do  not  feel  hurt,"  he  said,  with 
a  desperate  attempt  at  cheerfulness.  "  Sir  Simon  dis- 
tinctly named  me  as  his  heir,  and,  moreover,  asked 
Mr.  Durham  to  read  the  new  will  in  which  I  was  named 
as  such." 

"  Perfectly  true,"  said  Durham,  coldly.     "  But  Sir 


112  The  Red  Wmdow 

Simon  changed  his  mind  and  bnrnt  the  new  will.     It 
was  never  executed,  as  I  say." 

"  Sir  Simon  had  every  right  to  do  what  he  liked  with 
his  own,"  said  the  diplomatic  Beryl,  while  Miss  Beron- 
garia,  "vvondering  what  was  in  his  mind,  watched  him 
with  her  keen  eyes.  "  But,  as  I  say,  I  am  hurt.  I 
quite  understood  that  Sir  Simon  had  disinherited  my 
cousin,  but  I  was  prepared  to  allow  him  an  income  had 
I  received  the  property." 

"  Two  hundred  a  year,"  said  the  lawyer.  "  A  muni- 
ficent offer." 

"  It  was  approved  by  Sir  Simon,"  said  Julius,  calmly. 
"  However,  it  appears  that  Sir  Simon  rescinded  the 
new  vdll — " 

"  It  was  never  executed." 

"  Then  we  will  say  he  never  executed  it.  The  money 
goes  to  Bernard  Gore.  So  far  as  I  believe  he  is  dead, 
but  I  hope  Mr.  Durham,  as  the  executor  of  the  estate, 
will  offer  a  reward  to  prove  if  he  is  dead  or  alive. 

With  regard  to  the  commission  of  the  crime,  the 
jury  at  the  inquest  found  Bernard  guilty  without  one 
dissenting  voice.  However,  I  am  willing  to  give  my 
cousin  the  beenfit  of  the  doubt,  and  should  he  reappear 
(and  I  hope  he  may)  I  shall  do  my  best  to  aid  him  to 
prove  his  innocnce.  I  hope  any  words  that  may  have 
escaped  me  in  the  heat  caused  by  a  disappointment  will 
be  overlooked." 

Whether  any  of  those  present  believed  this  state- 
ment it  is  impossible  to  say.  Everyone  looked  down 
and  no  response  was  made,  save  by  Miss  Plantagenet. 
She  rose,  and  Ava Iking  across  the  room,  offered  her  hand 
to  the  disappointed  heir.  "  You  are  a  good  young 
man,"  she  said  heartily.  "  And  I  hope  you  will  come 
and  see  me." 


Bernard's  Enemies  113 


Julius,  rather  taken  aback  by  this  invitation  from 
one  whom  he  had  cause  to  think  loved  him  but  little, 
grasped  her  hand  and  thanked  her  with  great  fervency. 
Her  speech  was  a  relief  to  him,  and  he  sat  down  with 
a  calmer  face,  when  the  old  lady  returned  to  her  seat. 

"  Why  did  you  do  that,  aunt?  "  asked  Alice,  dis- 
mayed. 

"  My  dear,"  whispered  Miss  Berengaria,  with  a  grim 
smile,  "  that  young  man  means  mischief.  I  am  taking 
Mr.  Durham's  advice  and  making  friends  with  him, 
that  I  may  thwart  his  plans." 

This  was  whispered  so  softly  that  Lucy  did  not 
overhear.  JSTor,  had  it  been  spoken  aloud,  would  she 
have  attended.  Durham  had  come  forward  and  was 
speaking  earnestly  to  her. 

"  I  trust  you  will  stop  at  the  Hall  for  the  present," 
he  said,  "  until  Bernard  comes  home." 

"  Will  Bernard  ever  come  home  ?"  asked  Lucy,  sigh- 


ing- 


"  Let  us  hope  so.  I  doubt  if  he  is  dead,  and  I  will 
not  believe  he  is  until  his  body  is  laid  before  me.  As 
to  the  crime,  I  do  not  believe  he  committed  it.  How- 
ever, I  want  you  to  stay  here  as  the  chatelaine  of  the 
Hall.    All  things  will  go  on  as  before." 

"  Am  I  to  stay,  sir? "  asked  Mrs.  Gilroy,  coming 
forward. 

"  Yes  !  nor  will  the  servants  be  changed.  Of  course, 
any  of  them  who  wish  to  leave  can  do  so.    But  you — " 

"  I  will  stop  on  in  my  old  position,  if  Miss  Randolph 
wishes." 

Lucy  nodded.  "Yes!  let  all  things  remain  as  they 
were,"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Gilroy  made  a  stiif  curtsey  and  returned  to  the 


114  The  Red  Window 

otlier  servants,  who  then  filed  in  an  orderly  manner 
out  of  the  room.  The  relatives  also  took  their  leave, 
amongst  them  Julius,  now  smilinj^.  At  the  door  Lucy 
said  something  to  him  about  Bernard.  He  smiled 
darkly. 

"  We  have  yet  to  prove  that  Bernard  is  alive,"  he 
said. 

"  Danger  !"  thought  Miss  Berengaria.  "  I'll  watch 
you,  young  man." 


CHAPTER   IX 

AT   COVE    CASTLE 

Five  miles  from  Hurseton  the  marshes  began  and 
did  not  end  until  they  touched  the  coast.  There  were 
acres  of  mud  and  reeds  and  succulent  grasses,  inter- 
spersed with  narrow  waterways.  In  rainy  weather  this 
low-lying  land — if  it  could  be  called  so — almost  dis- 
appeared under  water,  and  in  summer  the  poisonous 
morass  exhaled  white  mists  which  caused  fever  and 
ague.  The  people  who  dwelt  on  the  border  of  the  slough 
of  despond  were  rarely  healthy,  but  they  were  attached 
to  the  dismal  neighborhood  and  refused  to  move  to 
higher  ground  where  they  would  have  enjoyed  better 
health.  What  was  good  enough  for  their  fathers  was 
good  enough  for  them,  was  the  argument  upon  which 
they  based  their  refusal. 

The  road  from  Hurseton  changed  where  the  marshes 
began  to  a  causeway  and  ran  solid  and  high  across  tho 
treacherous  bog  towards  the  coast.  Here  it  took  a 
sudden  turn,  and  passed  through  several  iishing  villages 
on  its  way  to  Market-on-Sea.  And  thence  between 
hedges  it  passed  onward  to  London,  a  road  once  more. 
Some  distance  from  the  curve  an  arm  of  the  causeway 
ran  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  Cove  Castle,  which  was 
built  on  a  firm  and  elevated  spot  of  ground,  near  a 
kind  of  estuary  which  communicated  with  the  sea.  The 
sea  itself  was  only  distant  half  a  mile,  and  a  fine  view 
of  it  could  be  obtained  from  the  castle.     Why  the 


116  The  Red  Window 

building  should  be  called  by  so  high-sounding  a  name, 
it  is  hard  to  saj.  It  was  simply  a  large  stone  house  of 
two  story,  with  a  kind  of  tower  at  one  end.  Formerly, 
in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  it  had  been  a  fort,  and  after- 
wards, falling  into  decay,  had  been  used  by  smugglers 
for  the  storing  of  contraband  goods.  In  the  reign  of 
George  III.,  the  then  Lord  Conniston  being  disgusted 
with  Hfe,  and  anxious  to  isolate  himself  from  the  gay 
world,  in  which  he  had  glittered  to  the  detriment  of 
his  purse  and  health,  had  brought  the  property  and 
there  had  lived  and  died.  At  that  time  the  family 
possessed  several  seats  and  a  town  house.  But  the 
Georgian  Conniston  preferred  this  unhealthy  neighbor- 
hood, as  least  likely  to  attract  his  former  friends.  So 
no  one  visited  him,  and  he  lived  and  died  a  recluse. 
Afterwards  the  castle  was  deserted  again,  the  successors 
of  this  lordly  hermit  preferring  to  live  in  more  healthy 
parts.  But  gradually  the  property  had  been  sold  bit 
by  bit,  until,  when  Dick,  the  present  lord,  inherited, 
nothing  remained  to  him  but  Cove  Castle  and  the  few 
acres  around.  Also  he  possessed  the  family  vault, 
wliich  was  underneath  the  Church  of  St.  Agnes  at  the 
village  of  Benstow,  three  miles  away.  It  was  strange 
that  the  members  of  the  family  should  have  decided  to 
be  buried  in  this  lonely  place,  when  they  could  have 
rested  in  some  green  churchyard  in  the  Midlands.  But, 
seeing  that  Cove  Castle  alone  remained  to  their  des- 
cendants, it  was  just  as  well  that  the  former  holders 
of  the  title  had  entertained  this  odd  idea.  The  present 
Lord  Conniston  at  least  retained,  out  of  the  wreck  of 
the  property,  the  vault  wherein  the  remains  of  his 
forebears  were  laid. 

iWhen  Conniston  arrived  at  the  castle  he  was  met  at 


At  Cove  Castle  117 


the  door  bj  a  gigantic  female  of  uncommon  ugliness, 
who  answered  to  the  name  of  Selina  Moon.  She  was 
large  enough  to  have  earned  an  income  by  exhibiting 
herself  in  a  caravan,  being  considerably  over  six  feet, 
and  sufficiently  ugly  to  shame  even  the  witches  in  Mac- 
beth. Had  Mrs.  Moon  lived  in  the  Middle  Ages,  she 
would  assuredly  have  been  put  to  death  for  sorcery,  as 
her  looks  seemed  hardly  human.  She  had  the  frame 
of  a  grenadier  and  the  voice  of  a  drill  sergeant.  Her 
face  was  large  and  round  and  pallid,  from  a  long  life  in 
the  midst  of  the  marshes.  A  few  grey  hairs  on  her 
upper  lip  gave  her  a  still  more  masculine  look,  and, 
indeed,  the  least  observant  would  have  taken  her  for  a 
man  in  disguise.  She  wore  a  frilled  cap,  which  sur- 
rounded her  face  like  the  rays  of  a  sunflower,  and 
wore  a  vivid  red  gown  bound  at  the  waist  by  a  yellow 
scarf.  Mrs.  Moon  loved  bright  colors,  and  apparently, 
if  one  could  judge  from  her  black  eyes  and  beaked  nose, 
had  something  of  the  gipsy  in  her.  Not  so  far  as  wan- 
dering was  concerned,  though,  for  she  rarely  left  the 
castle.  This  was  because  her  great  size,  coupled  with 
her  love  of  finery,  provoked  comment  from  adults  and 
insults  from  children  whenever  she  ventured  abroad. 

This  Amazonian  female,  from  her  height  of  six  feet 
five,  looked  down  on  Conniston  with  a  submissive  air. 
She  was  as  timid  as  a  rabbit,  the  most  harmless  of 
her  sex,  and  report  went,  that  the  late  Mr.  Moon,  who 
had  been  almost  a  dwarf,  had  frequently  beaten  her 
in  spite  of  her  superior  inches.  However,  the  old  man 
was  dead,  and  for  many  a  long  day  Mrs.  Moon  had 
lorded  it  over  the  one  servant  in  the  castle.  But  she  still 
wore  her  submissive  air,  and  when  her  master  imperi- 
ously dcn:iandcd  a  sight  of  the  gentleman  who  was  ex- 
pecting him,  led  the  .way^  at  once  jto  an  upper  room. 


118  The  Red  Window 


"  But  I  wouldn't  take  everyone,"  said  Mrs.  Moon  in 
a  thin,  high  voice  like  the  midnight  wind  in  a  chimney. 
'•'  He  being  wishful  to  keep  hisself  quiet.  What  have 
he  done,  my  lord?  " 

"Nothing,"  said  Conniston,  promptly.  "He  only 
came  down  here  for  a  rest.  Do  you  think  he  has 
robbed  the  bank? " 

"  There's  worse  things  than  robbing  banks,"  re- 
marked Mrs.  Moon,  shaking  her  frilled  cap  porten- 
tously, "  and  the  worse  things  is  what  he's  done.  And 
why  shouldn't  he  tell  me  his  name  if  he  was  a  babe  for 


innocence?  " 


"  Didn't  he  do  so  when  he  arrived?  "  asked  Connis- 
ton, halting  on  the  landing  with  an  anxious  look. 

"  Ko,  my  lord,  bless  your  heart!  he  didn't,"  said  the 
giantess;  "  and  but  that  he  had  your  letter,  which  was 
as  plain  as  print " 

"  And  ivas  print,"  interpolated  Dick,  remembering 
his  caligraphy  adapted  to  the  brains  of  Mrs.  Moon. 

"I  shouldn't  have  let  him  in.  But  your  lordship 
said  he  was  to  have  the  best  room,  and  the  best  room 
he  has,  to  say  nothing  of  your  lordship's  clothes,  he 
having  arrived  in  tatters  like  a  tramp,  which  he  isn't 
from  the  princely  looks  of  him.  No  one  knows  as  he 
is  here,  he  having  asked  me  to  say  nothing.  But  Vic- 
toria  " 

"  What  about  her?  "  asked  Conniston,  rather  sharply, 
for  Victoria  was  a  small  servant,  preternaturally  sharp 
and  mighty  curious. 

"  She's  allays  asking  questions  as  to  what  he's  doing 
here." 

"  Then,  don't  answer  her  questions." 

"I  don't,"  said  Mrs.  Moon,  plaintively,  "and  but 


At  Cove  Castle  119 


that  she's  so  strong  I'd  smack  her  hard.  But  onlv 
Jerry  could  manage  her,  and,  bless  me!  your  dear  lord- 
ship, he's  earning  his  bread  in  London,  though  I  haven't 
heard  of  him  for  months." 

"  He's  not  in  the  place  I  obtained  for  him,"  said 
Conniston,  stopping  at  the  door  of  the  room  indicated 
by  the  housekeeper.  "  He's  robbed  the  till  and 
bolted." 

Mrs.  Moon  was  not  all  disturbed.  "  Just  like  his 
poor  father,  my  second  son,"  said  she,  shaking  the 
frilled  cap  again.  "  He  was  a  wonderful  boy  for 
money  and  never  minded  how  he  got  it.  Have  they 
jailed  Jerry?  "  she  asked,  with  great  simplicity. 

Conniston  could  hardly  help  smiling  at  the  calm  way 
in  which  she  took  the  report  of  her  grandson's  wicked- 
ness. "  No,  his  master  turned  him  out  and  gave  him 
another  chance." 

"  Bless  and  preserve  your  dear  lordship,  Jerry  won't 
take  no  chance,  as  I  always  said,  being  advised  by  the 
cards.  It's  the  gallers  that  boy  will  come  to,  and  may 
I  not  be  here  to  see  him  dangling  at  the  end  of  a  rope, 
much  as  he  may  deserve  it.  Jerry's  a  bad  'un,  for  sure, 
and  takes  after  my  old  man's  side  of  the  family,  sev- 
eral having  been  choked  by  the  lawr  for  thieving  and 
murdering  and  otherwise  taking  their  enjoyment. 
Where  is  he  now?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  Mrs.  Moon.  But  if  he  comes  here, 
don't  you  let  him  into  the  castle  and  don't  you  let  him 
know  that  Mr. — Mr.  Grant  " — Dick  gave  Bernard  a 
new  name  for  the  sake  of  concealment — "  is  here." 

"  Grant !  "  echoed  Mrs.  Moon.  "  But  he  don't  look 
Scotch." 

"  Never  you  mind  what  he  is.  You  hold  your  tongue 
and  make  Victoria  hold  hers." 


120  The  Red  Window 

''  Only  Jerry  can  manage  her,"  said  Mrs.  Moon, 
firmly,  "  me  not  being  strong  enough  for  such  a  tearing- 
cat.     If  your  lordship  would  speak  yourself " 

"  I'll  see  to  it,"  interrupted  Conniston,  quickly. 
"I'm  stopping  here  for  the  night,  Mrs.  Moon.  Can 
you  give  me  and  Mr. — er — Grant  a  good  dinner?  " 

"  I'll  cook  it  myself,  Victoria  being  fond  of  burning 
things  and  her  pastery  being  lead  for  heaviness.  The 
wine  your  lordship  knows " 

"  Is  there  any  of  that  port  left?  " 

"  Plenty,  save  what  Jerry  drank,  he  being  fond  of 
his  glass." 

"  What!  a  boy  of  thirteen,  Mrs,  Moon!  "  said  Con- 
niston, seriously.  "  If  you  had  stifled  Jerry  in  the 
mud  years  ago  it  would  have  been  better  for  him  and 
for  you." 

Mrs.  Moon  blew  a  gigantic  sigh.  "  True  enough, 
your  lordship,  seeing  as  he'll  occupy  a  place  in  the 
Chamber  of  Horrors  in  the  exhibition  me  and  Moon 
saw  in  London.  Ah,  well,  some  of  his  grandfather's 
people  were  hanged  and " 

Conniston  waited  to  hear  no  more  of  this  domestic 
Newgate's  Calendar,  but  abruptly  opened  the  door  and 
entered  the  room. 

It  was  a  large,  airy  apartment,  with  two  windows 
looking  on  to  the  shining  expanse  of  the  sea,  and  well 
furnished  in  an  old-fashioned  way.  In  a  large  grate  a 
fire  of  logs  was  briskly  burning,  so  that  the  atmosphere 
was  less  damp  than  in  the  other  rooms  of  the  castle. 
The  furniture  was  all  of  black  oak,  and  included  a 
square  table,  a  comfortable  sofa  which  was  drawn  up 
close  to  the  fire,  and  several  arm-chairs.  Also  there 
was  a  sideboard  and  a  bookcase  well  supplied  with  yol- 


At  Cove  Castle  121 


umes  of  works  long  since  out  of  print.  The  hangings 
were  of  faded  brocade,  and  the  carpet  was  patched  and 
mended.  Here  and  there  was  valuable  china  and  a 
few  silver  ornaments.  The  whole  room  looked  com- 
fortable and  home-like,  and  rather  quaint  in  its  faded 
and  mellow  beauty. 

"  Where  are  you,  Bernard? "  asked  Conniston,  see- 
ing the  room  was  empty. 

For  answer  a  window  curtain  was  drawn  aside  and 
Gore  came  out,  holding  the  heavy  steel  poker.  "  It's 
only  you,"  he  said,  looking  very  pale.  "  I  heard  voices 
and  concealed  myself  behind  the  curtain.  I  expected 
you,  but  didn't  know  but  what  someone  else  might 
come.     That  servant  suspects  me." 

"  I*^ot  Mrs.  Moon,"  said  Conniston,  pitying  the  hag- 
gard looks  of  his  friend. 

"  No,  Victoria.     She  is  as  sharp  as  a  needle  and — " 

"  Don't  distress  yourself,  old  boy,"  said  Dick,  taking 
Gore's  hand  and  leading  him  to  the  sofa  upon  which 
he  had  been  apparently  lying  until  startled  by  the 
sound  of  voices.  "  Mrs.  Moon  can  be  depended  upon 
and  I'll  speak  to  Victoria  myself.     You  are  safe  here." 

"  Are  you  sure,  Dick?  " 

"  Perfectly  sure.  And  even  if  you  were  discovered 
I  could  manage  to  conceal  you  in  the  vaults  below  the 
castle." 

".Are  there  vaults?"  asked  the  fugitive,  who  was 
shivering  and  pale. 

"  Yes !  The  old  smugglers  used  them  to  store  goods 
and  as  hiding-places.  There  is  a  passage  and  door  com- 
municating with  the  arm  of  the  sea  which  runs  near 
the  castle,  and  you  could  easily  escape  to  foreign  parts 
by  moans  of  a  boat.  Cheer  up,  old  boy,"  added  Dick, 
clapping  his  friend  on  the  back,  "  you're  not  dead  ^et." 


122  The  Red  Window 

The  poor,  hunted  young  fellow  threw  his  arm  school- 
boy fashion  over  Conniston's  shoulder.  "  What  a  good 
fellow  you  are,  Dick!  "  he  said.  "  I  fancied  you  might 
believe  me  guilty." 

"  I'd  as  soon  believe  myself  guilty,  you  several  kinds 
of  ass." 

"  And  Alice?  "  asked  Bernard,  under  his  breath. 

"  She  believes  you  innocent,  so  does  Aunt  Beren- 
garia  and  Durham.  Yes!  and  Miss  Randolph  also. 
She's  a  ripping  girl  that.  I  wish  she  wasn't  engaged  to 
Beryl,  the  pig!  " 

"  What  does  he  say?  "  asked  Gore,  warming  his  hand 
and  casting  a  look  over  his  shoulder. 

"  He  says  nothing,  because  he  thinks  you  are  drown- 
dead,  as  Mr.  Pcggotty  would  say.  And,  by  Jove!  Ber- 
nard, I  thought  you  really  were  dead.  You  have  no 
idea  what  a  relief  it  was  when  I  got  your  letter.  How 
did  you  escape  ?  " 

Bernard  passed  his  hand  through  his  hair  and  sighed 
wearily.  The  strain  through  which  he  had  passed,  and 
from  which  he  still  suffered,  showed  itself  in  his  blood- 
less cheeks  and  his  wild  eyes.  At  every  sound  he 
started  and  shook.  His  nerves,  and  small  wonder,  were 
quite  unstrung,  and  even  while  sitting  safely  beside  his 
old  school  chum  on  the  sofa  near  the  fire,  he  kept  a 
tight  hold  of  him,  like  a  child  by  its  mother's  knee. 
Seeing  this,  Conniston  rose  quickly.  Bernard  was  on 
his  feet  in  a  moment,  startled  by  the  suddenness  of  the 
movement. 

"  What's  the  matter?  "  he  demanded,  looking  anx- 
iously around,  and  eyeing  both  door  and  window  sus- 
piciously. 

"  You  are  the  matter,"  said  Conniston,  touching  the 


At  Cove  Castle  123 


bell.  "  I  must  get  you  some  wine.  You  look  so  aw- 
fully ill,  old  chap.  This  will  never  do.  I  tell  you, 
Bernard,  you  are  all  right.  I'll  stick  to  you  through 
thick  and  thin." 

"  But  if  I  was  arrested?  " 

"  You  won't  be  arrested.  Everyone  thinks  you  are 
dead.  You'll  stay  here  until  we  sift  this  matter  to  the 
bottom,  and  then  you  can  take  your  place  again  in  the 
world  as  Sir  Bernard  Gore." 

"Sir  Bernard!" 

"  Of  course.  You  inherit  the  title  and  the  money 
also." 

"  E'ot  the  money,  Dick?  " 

"  Yes!  Durham  told  me  to  tell  you,  as  he  couldn't 
come  himself.  He  is  now  reading  the  will  and  Beryl 
will  find  himself  left  out  in  the  cold.  You  get  every- 
thing." 

Bernard  threw  up  his  hands.  "  And  I'm  a  hunted 
fugitive." 

"  Steady,  old  boy.  Bit  on  the  bullet.  You're  a  dead 
man,  and  will  remain  one  until  we  discover  who  killed 
your  grandfather." 

"  And  how  can  we " 

"  Shut  up,  Bernard!  "  Conniston  made  an  imperative 
sign  as  a  knock  came  to  the  door.  Gore  at  once  turned 
his  face  to  the  fire  and  began  to  arrange  the  logs,  while 
Lord  Conniston  spoke  to  a  sharp,  dark,  wizen  child  who 
entered  the  room.  She  was  no  more  than  fifteen,  but 
had  such  an  old  face  and  such  a  womanly  appearance 
that  she  looked  much  older.  Her  eves  were  as  black 
as  sloes  and  her  thin  lips  tightly  closed.  A  most  un- 
pleasant-looking creature  witli  a  waspish  nature. 

"  Oh,    Victoria,"    said    Conniston,    as    this    goblin 


124  The  Red  Window 

dropped  a  curtsey,  "  I  want  you  to  bring  up  some  port 
wdne. — Mrs.  Moon  will  give  it  to  you — and  some  glasses 
also." 

"Yes,  m'lord!" 

"  Bring  a  plate  of  biscuits  too." 

"Yes,  m'lord!" 

"  And,  Victoria,"  said  the  young  man,  as  she  re- 
treated, "  there  is  no  need  for  you  to  mention  that  I 
have  visitors  at  the  castle." 

"  !N'o,  m'lord,"  said  Victoria,  and,  with  a  glance  full 
of  suspicion  at  Bernard's  back,  she  withdrew  as  noise- 
lessly as  she  entered,  and  with  a  final  curtsey,  such  as 
might  have  been  made  by  a  wooden  doll.  Indeed,  Vic- 
toria— a  most  inappropriate  name — might  well  have 
been  cut  out  of  wood,  so  stiff  and  angular  and  hard  did 
she  look.  Conniston  did  not  wonder  that  placid  Mrs. 
Moon  could  not  control  this  embryo  virago.  A  com- 
bat between  them  would  be  like  that  between  an  ele- 
phant and  a  mosquito,  with  the  betting  on  the  insect. 

"  That's  a  mistake,  Dick,"  said  Bernard,  when  the 
door  closed. 

"  What  is?  "  asked  Conniston,  staring. 

"  Telling  that  girl  to  hold  her  tongue.  She  has  no 
reason  to  suspect  me,  and  quite  as  likely  as  not  thought 
me  merely  your  guest.  Now  she  will  fancy  all  sorts  of 
things." 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Conniston,  uneasily,  "  but  she's 
such  a  little  devil  that  I  thought  it  best  to  give  her  one 
for  herself.  And  if  she  chatters  she  will  lose  her  situa- 
tion. I  am  so  afraid  lest  she  should  be  in  communica- 
tion with  Jerry." 

"Jerry?" 

"Judas.     The  grandson  of  Mrs.  Moon  who  robbed 


At  Cove  Castle  125 


Taberley.  He  and  Victoria  were  as  thick  as  thieves, 
and  are  about  equal  in  wickedness.  If  the  girl  sus- 
pected anything  she  might  ask  Judas  to  help  her  to 
learn  more  of  the  truth  than  we  want  known.  Both 
would  sell  their  nearest  and  dearest  for  a  pound.  But 
don't  bother,  Bernard,"  said  the  easy-going  Dick,  again 
crossing  to  the  sofa,  "  everything  is  right." 

"  I  hope  so,  I  hope  so,"  muttered  Gore.  "  If  I  am 
arrested  I  cannot  make  any  defence." 

"  We'll  talk  of  that  later.  Here  comes  Mrs.  Moon 
with  the  ^vine,  and  so  speedily  that  I  suspect  she  must 
have  out  a  bottle  for  her  private  drinking.  I  say,  Mrs. 
Moon,"  said  Conniston,  as  the  giantess  entered  with  a 
silver  tray  and  the  wine,  "  don't  let  Victoria  leave  the 
castle  on  any  account." 

"  I  should  think  not,"  said  Mrs.  Moon,  setting  down 
the  tray.  "  She  works  httle  enough  as  it  is  without 
trapesing  about  on  holidays.  I'd  keep  her  under  lock 
and  key  on  bread  and  water  if  I  had  my  way,  and  if 
she  wasn't  too  strong  for  me,  the  besom  that  she  is! — 
begging  your  dear  lordship's  pardon.  Anything  else, 
my  lord?  " 

"  No.     You  can  go." 

"  And  glad  I  am  to  go,"  said  Mrs.  Moon,  with- 
drawing with  a  ponderous  step,  "  being  engaged  in 
playing  kings." 

"  Kings,"  said  Conniston,  when  she  vanished. 

Bernard,  in  spite  of  his  sadness,  laughed  and  ex- 
plained. "  It's  a  game  of  patience,"  he  said.  "  I  asked 
Mrs.  Moon  for  a  pack  of  cards  to  pass  the  time,  and  was 
playing  the  game  myself.  She  was  curious;  so,  to  keep 
her  in  a  good  temper,  I  taught  it  to  her.  Ever  since 
she  has  been  playing  it  unsuccessfully." 


12G  The  Red  Window 

"  Oh!  "  Conniston  was  not  interested  in  his  house- 
keeper's games,  lie  opened  the  bottle  of  port  and 
carefully  poured  out  a  full  glass,  which  he  passed  to 
Bernard.     "  Drink  that  up,  you  sinner." 

Gore  sipped  a  little  wine  but  finally  drank  the  whole 
glass.  Conniston  made  him  take  another  in  spite  of 
his  protestations,  and  then  the  color  came  back  to  his 
sunken  cheeks.  The  poor  fellow  was  thin  with  anxiety 
and  want  of  sleep.  When  Conniston  saw  he  was  better 
he  made  him  light  a  pipe  and  then  sat  down  to  hear  an 
account  of  his  escape.  Bernard  was  grateful  for  these 
attentions  and  began  to  look  less  cowed, 

"  You're  a  good  friend,  Dick,"  he  said,  smoking  lux- 
uriously. "  This  is  the  first  moment  of  peace  I  have 
known  since  that  awful  moment." 

"  How  did  you  escape?  "  asked  Conniston,  lighting  a 
cigarette. 

"  I  threw  myself  into  the  river  and  swam  across." 

"  In  the  fog?  " 

"  Yes.  I  was  guided  by  the  piers  of  the  Chelsea 
Bridge.  On  the  opposite  side  I  took  off  my  coat  and 
hat  and  left  them  lying  on  the  bank,  so  that  it  might 
be  thought  I  was  drowned." 

"  Which  is  exactly  what  people  do  think,"  said  Dick, 
complacently. 

"  Thank  Heaven  for  that.  Well,  then  I  went  into  a 
public-house  I  found  open — it  was  not  yet  midnight — 
and  made  up  a  story  about  having  been  robbed  and 
thrown  into  the  river." 

"  That  was  dangerous.  The  iDublic-house  people 
might  have  advised  you  to  see  the  police." 

"  I  don't  think  the  landlord  had  any  love  for  the 
police,"  said  Gore,  dryly.     "  He  looked  like  an  old  con- 


At  Cove  Castle  127 


vict  himself  and  displayed  a  fellow-sjmpathy.  I  don't 
know  if  he  believed  my  story.  However,  for  a  sover- 
eign he  gave  me  a  coat  and  hat,  and  asked  no  questions. 
I  walked  across  Waterloo  Bridge  in  the  fog  and  escaped 
observation.  But  for  the  fog  I  expect  my  military 
breeches  and  leggings  vs^ould  have  betrayed  me  and  pro- 
voked questions.     But  I  managed  to  escape." 

"  I  didn't  sleep  at  all.  I  walked  the  whole  night, 
and  by  dawn  I  was  out  of  London.  I  lost  myself  sev- 
eral times  in  the  fog  and  twice  had  a  row  with  a  tramp 
or  two.  Then  I  took  a  train  at  a  wayside  station  to 
Gravesend,  and  crossed  the  river  to  Tilbury." 

"  Didn't  anyone  ask  questions?  " 

Bernard  shook  his  head.  "  The  new  Yeomanry  uni- 
form wasn't  known  in  those  parts.  I  expect  the  gaiters 
made  people  think  I  was  a  farmer.  I  took  the  train 
to  Pitsea,  and  then  came  on  here  under  cover  of  night. 
It  was  ten  o'clock  by  the  time  I  got  here." 

"  What  did  you  do  in  the  meantime?  " 

"  I  loafed  about  the  taproom  of  a  pub,  and  made  out 
I  was  a  horse-dealer  buying  horses  for  the  war.  No 
one  suspected  me,  and  I  managed  to  sustain  my  part 
perfectly." 

"  Did  Mrs.  Moon  admit  you  at  once?  " 

"  No.  She  was  in  bed.  But  when  she  came  to  the 
door  she  seemed  disinclined  to  admit  me.  I  produced 
your  letter,  and  after  she  read  it,  which  took  about  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  she  let  me  in.  Then  next  morning 
I  wrote  to  you." 

"  What  made  you  think  of  this  place,  Bernard?  " 

"  I  could  think  of  nowhere  to  hide,"  said  Gore,  lean- 
ing back  with  a  weary  sigh.  "  And  after  all,"  he 
added,  ^\dth  a  glance  round,  "  this  is  a  very  good  cacheJ^ 


128  The  Red  IVindow 

Conniston  nodded.  "  You  are  quite  safe  here.  I 
will  show  you  the  way  to  the  vaults,  and  should  there 
be  any  chance  of  your  being  discovered  you  can  hide 
there." 

"  Does  Victoria  know  about  the  vaults?  " 
"  I  can't  say.  Probably  that  Judas  brat  has  told  her. 
He  was  brought  up  here,  and  knows  every  nook  and 
cranny  of  the  castle.  And  now,  Bernard,  we  must 
have  a  good  dinner,  and  then  you  can  tell  me  whom  you 
suspect  of  committing  the  crime." 


CHAPTER  X 

A   STATEMENT   OF   THE   CASE 

Bernard,  alias  Mr.  Grant,  had  made  free  with  Con- 
niston's  clothes,  as  Mrs.  Moon  had  stated.  But,  being 
mnch  taller  than  his  friend,  he  looked  rather  uncom- 
fortable, and  indeed  had  hidden  the  shortcomings  of 
the  garments  under  a  gorgeous  dressing-gown,  a  relic  of 
Dick's  'Varsity  days.  But  Conniston  had  procured 
through  Durham  several  suits  of  Gore's  clothes  which 
had  been  left  behind  at  the  Hall  when  he  was  turned 
away  by  his  grandfather.  These  he  had  brought  with 
him,  and  Bernard  was  glad  enough  to  get  into  comfort- 
ably-fitting garments.  These,  and  the  society  of  Con- 
niston, a  good  dinner  and  the  super-excellent  port  made 
him  feel  a  new  man. 

After  dinner  the  two  friends  piled  the  fire  with  great 
logs  as  it  was  freezing  hard  without.  Mrs.  Moon 
brought  up  coffee  hot  and  strong,  and  when  she  left  the 
room  the  young  men  produced  their  pipes.  Then  Con- 
niston sat  on  one  side  of  the  firje  and  Bernard  on  the 
other,  and  both  of  them  prepared  to  go  into  the  case 
and  to  see  exactly  how  matters  stood. 

"  In  the  first  place,"  said  Dick,  filling  his  pipe  care- 
fully, "  let  us  consider  what  actually  happened.  Sir 
Simon  was  alone  that  evening." 

"  He  was  when  I  found  him  dead,  unless  you  call 
Mrs.  Gilroy  anyone." 

I  call  her  a  very  important  person/'  said  Dick, 


ti 


130  The  Red  Window 

dryly.  "  I  tell  you  what,  Gore,  you  evidently  don't 
know  everything.     Just  tell  me  what  you  do  know." 

"  I  have  told  you,"  said  Bernard,  impatiently.  "  I 
left  Durham's  house  at  ten  o'clock;  you  mentioned  the 
time  yourself." 

"  I  did,"  responded  Conniston,  gravely,  "  and  I  men- 
tioned also  the  day  of  the  month.     It  was  the " 

"  The  twenty-third  of  October.  Shall  I  ever  forget 
a  date  so  ominous  to  me?  I  left  the  house,  and  a  small 
boy  stopped  me.  He  said  that  a  lady — he  did  not  men- 
tion her  name — had  told  him  to  inform  me  to  follow 
him  to  the  Red  Window." 

"  Your  cousin  Lucv  knew  of  that?  " 

"  Yes.  And  I  thought  the  lady  in  question  was 
Lucy,  but  the  boy  did  not  mention  any  name.  He 
simply  said  that  he  had  been  spoken  to  by  the  lady 
down  Kensington  way.  I^ow  I  knew  from  Durham 
that  Lucy  was  living  with  Sir  Simon,  who  was  in  Crimea 
Square,  Kensington,  and  that  knowledge,  coupled  with 
the  mention  of  the  lied  Window,  made  me  follow  the 
boy." 

"  Can  you  describe  the  lad?  " 

"  Not  very  well.  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  him  under 
a  lamp-post,  but  the  fog  was  so  thick  that  I  obtained 
only  a  vague  impression.  He  seemed  to  be  a  fair,  in- 
nocent-looking boy  with  fair  hair — the  kind  of  pure 
angelic  creature  depicted  by  painters  as  a  chorister." 

"  By  Jove !  "  Conniston  dashed  down  his  pipe  ex- 
citedly. "  You  describe  Judas  to  the  life.  The  plot 
thickens." 

"  The  plot " 

"  The  plot  which  was  to  involve  you  in  the  crime, 
and,  by  Jove!  those  who  conti'ived  it  must  have  hired 
Judas  to  be  your  guide." 


A  Statement  of  the  Case  131 

*'  Are  you  sure  tliat  this  is  the  lad — Mrs.  Moon's 
grandson? " 

"  As  sure  as  I  can  be  from  your  word-painting.  Jerry 
— Judas  suits  him  much  better — is  just  what  you  say: 
an  innocent,  butter-won't-melt-in-my-mouth  sort  of  brat 
who  looks  like  an  angel  and  acts  like  a  denizen  of  the 
infernal  regions.  And  now  I  remember,"  went  on 
Dick,  "  the  little  brute  spoke  to  me  after  you  left  me 
when  we  talked  in  the  Park.  He  was  then  bare-footed 
and  selling  matches." 

"  This  boy  must  be  the  same,"  said  Bernard,  thought- 
fully. "  He  also  had  bare  feet  and  carried  boxes  of 
matches  in  his  hand." 

"  It's  Judas  sure  enough !  "  muttered  Conniston,  pull- 
ing his  mustache  and  staring  gloomily  into  the  fire. 
"I  wonder  what  he  was  doing  in  that  galley?  You 
followed  him? " 

"  Yes,  because  he  mentioned  the  Red  Window.  But 
for  that  I  should  have  suspected  something  wrong.  I 
don't  care  about  following  strange  urchins.  But  only 
Lucy  knew  about  the  Red  Window." 

"  She  might  have  told  Beryl." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Never  mind.    Go  on  with  your  tale." 

"  Well,  I  followed  the  boy.  He  kept  a  little  ahead 
of  me,  and  several  times  when  I  got  lost  in  the  fog  he 
reappeared." 

"  Judas  is  as  clever  as  his  father,  the  Accuser  of  the 
Brethren.  How  long  were  you  getting  to  Crimea 
Square?  " 

"  Allowing  for  stoppages,  three-quarters  of  an  hour. 
All  the  trouble  took  place  about  a  quarter  to  eleven." 

"  Did  you  see  the  Red  Window?  " 


132  The  Red  IVindow 

"  I  saw  a  red  glare  in  a  Avindow  ou  the  first  floor.  I 
don't  suppose  the  glass  was  red,  but  think  some  red 
material  must  have  been  placed  over  a  lamp  and  that 
placed  close  to  the  window." 

"  Might  have  been  a  blind,"  mused  Dick,  "  and  yet 
when  Berjl  looked  and  his  friend  Mrs.  Webber  they 
saw  no  Red  Window.     Are  you  sure?  " 

"  I  am  certain,"  responded  Gore,  emphatically. 
"  When  I  saw  the  Red  Window  I  was  convinced  that 
Lucy  had  sent  for  me,  and,  thinking  that  she  had  per- 
suaded my  grandfather  to  relent,  I  would  have  entered 
the  house  for  a  personal  interview  but  that  Mrs.  Gilroy^ 
came  out." 

"  Could  you  be  seen  from  the  house?  " 

"  I  don't  think  so,  the  fog  was  very  thick  remember." 

"  Was  any  signal  given?  " 

Bernard  looked  hard  at  his  friend.  "  You  think  it 
was  a  trap?  " 

"  I  am  certain.    Was  there  any  signal?  " 

"  A  peculiar  kind  of  whistle.    Something  like  this!  " 

Gore  whistled  in  a  kind  of  ascending  scale  shrilly  and 
in  a  particularly  high  key.  The  effect  on  Conniston 
was  strange.  He  jumped  up  from  his  seat  and  walked 
hurriedly  to  and  fro. 

"  Judas,"  he  said.  "  I  remember  when  I  was  down 
here  that  the  little  scamp  had  a  kind  of  whistle  like  that 
— something  like  it.  Listen!  "  Conniston  whistled 
also,  and  Bernard  nodded. 

"  That's  it/'  he  declared;  "  the  whistle  was  given 
twice." 

"  Then  the  boy  was  Judas.  He  used  to  signal  to  Vic- 
toria in  that  way  when  the  pair  were  up  to  their  pranks. 
Wait !  "  Conniston  opened  the  door  and  whistled  loudly 


A  Statement  of  the  Case  133 

in  the  same  way.  Twice  he  did  this.  Shortly  after  the 
second  time  the  pattering  of  steps  was  heard  and  Vic- 
toria came  running  np  the  stairs  with  a  lighted  candle 
in  her  hand.     She  looked  white  and  scared. 

"  Did  you  expect  to  see  Jerry?  "  asked  her  master, 
blandly. 

The  girl  stared  and  turned  even  whiter  than  she  was. 
"  I  thought  it  was  Jerry,  sir,"  she  murmured,  leaning 
against  the  balustrade.  "  He  used  to  whistle  like  that 
when  he  came  home!  " 

"  I  learned  it  from  Jerry,"  said  Conniston,  menda- 
ciously, "  and  I  tried  to  see  if  it  would  bring  vou.  Go 
downstairs,  girl.     There's  nothing  wrong." 

Victoria  stared  at  Conniston  with  a  suspicious  look 
in  her  hard  eyes,  and  then  with  a  toss  of  her  head  ran 
down  the  stairs.  Dick  returned  to  the  room  and  shut 
the  door.     "  What  do  you  think  now?  " 

"  It  was  Judas  sure  enough,"  said  Bernard. 

"  Of  course.  And  the  signal  was  given  to  someone 
in  the  house  to  intimate  that  you  were  outside.  Who 
came  out?  " 

"  Mrs.  Gilroy?  " 

"Ah!  Then  she  must  have  been  waiting  for  the 
signal.  By  the  way,  you  always  seemed  mixed  over 
Mrs.  Gilroy.  When  we  first  met  you  said  that  she 
didn't  like  you.  Then  you  said  she  was  your  friend. 
Now  which  do  you  think  she  is?  " 

"  I  can  hardly  say.  She  always  pretended  to  be  my 
friend.     I  was  never  sure  of  her." 

"  Then  you  can  be  sure  of  her  now.  She  is  your 
bitter  enemy." 

"  I  am  afraid  so,"  sighed  Gore,  remembering  the 
accusation. 


134  The  Red  mndow 

"  Well,"  said  Dick,  resuming  his  seat,  "  what  next?  " 

"  Mrs.  Gilroj  came  out  screeching  '  ]\Iurder!  '  She 
dragged  me  upstairs  and  into  the  sitting-room " 

''  Did  jou  notice  if  there  was  a  red  lamp  in  the 
wdndow?  " 

"  No.  I  was  too  horrified  by  the  sight  of  my  dead 
grandfather.  I  loosened  the  handkerchief  round  the 
throat " 

"  That  was  a  bandana,  Sir  Simon's  own,  and  was  pro- 
duced at  the  inquest.  What  about  the  one  over  the 
mouth?" 

"  The  one  steeped  in  chloroform?  I  don't  know.  I 
had  it  in  my  hand  when  Mrs.  Gilroy  accused  me.  Then 
1  lost  my  head.     I  must  have  dropped  it." 

Conniston  looked  disappointed.  "  That's  a  pity,"  said 
he.  "  I  fancied  you  might  have  unconsciously  taken 
it  wdth  you.  You  see,  it  was  a  white  handkerchief  and 
Sir  Simon  never  used  one  of  that  color.  If  there  hap- 
pened to  be  a  name  on  the  corner " 

"  It  \vould  be  that  of  the  assassin.  Is  that  what  ^^ou 
mean?  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  what  I  mean.  The  assassin  must  have 
used  his  own  handkerchief." 

"Why  do  you  tliink  that?" 

Dick  made  an  impatient  gesture.  "  Why,  it's  the 
most  natural  thing  he  would  do,"  was  his  reply.  "  He 
enters  the  room^  and  talks  with  Sir  Simon.  In  his 
pocket  he  has  the  handkerchief  steeped  in  chloroform 
and  uses  it  unexpectedly.     It's  as  clear  as  day." 

"  Why  do  you  think  the  assassin  is  a  man?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  that  later.     Go  on." 

"  There's  nothing  more  to  say.  Mrs.  Gilroy  said 
that  I  was  the  assassin  and  tried  to  hold  me.     The 


A  Statement  of  the  Case  135 

policeman  came  and  arrested  me.  Seeing  what  a  fix  I 
was  in  I  bolted." 

"  You  should  have  stood  your  ground,"  insisted  Dick. 

Bernard  rose  and  in  his  turn  paced  the  room.  "  Man 
alive,  how  could  I  do  that?  "  he  said  irritably.  "  The 
position  was  dangerous  enough  to  appal  the  bravest 
man.  Mrs.  Gilroy  accused  me,  saying  that  I  had  been 
in  the  kitchen  and  had  left  there  about  six;  that  I  had 
returned  after  ten  and  killed  my  grandfather.  Also 
the  housemaid  Jane  recognized  me  as  the  soldier  who 
had  been  courting  her.  ISTot  only  that,  but  she  ad- 
dressed me  as  Bernard.  Can't  you  see  how  strong  the 
circumstantial  evidence  was  and  is?  I  did  not  get  to 
Durham's  before  seven,  and  I  was  by  myself  before 
that.  I  can't  prove  an  alibi  then,  and  I  left  at  ten, 
after  which  hour  Mrs.  Gilroy  said  I  had  come  into  the 
house.  In  three-quarters  of  an  hour  there  was  ample 
time  for  me  to  kill  my  grandfather.  It  is  barely  a 
quarter  of  an  hour's  walk  from  Durham's  house  on 
Camden  Hill  to  Crimea  Square.  I  could  not  prove  an 
alibi,  nor  could  you  or  Durham  have  helped  me.  I  was 
at  Durham's  in  the  evening,  but  where  was  I  before  six 
and  after  ten?  Dick,  had  I  stayed  I  should  have  been 
hanged.  These  thoughts  flashed  through  my  mind  and 
I  made  a  dash  for  liberty,  so  that  I  might  have  time  to 
think  out  my  position.  How  I  gained  this  refuge  you 
know.  And  here  I  have  been  thinking  ever  since  how 
to  extricate  myself  from  the  dilemma  and  prove  my 
innocence.  I  can't  see  how  to  do  it,  Dick.  I  can't  see 
how  to  act." 

"  Steady,  old  boy.  Come  and  sit  down  and  we'll 
thresh  out  the  matter." 

He  led  Bernard  back  to  the  chair,  into  which  the  poor 


186  The  Red  Window 

fellow  threw  liimsclf  with  a  wearj  sigh.  Conniston 
could  not  but  acknowledge  that  the  caae  against  his 
friend  was  very  strong.  As  he  could  not  prove  an  allhi, 
the  evidence  of  Mrs.  Gilrov,  of  the  cook,  and  page,  and 
housemaid,  would  probably  hang  him.  And  also  a  suf- 
ficient motive  for  the  crime  might  be  found — by  the 
jury — in  the  fact  that  Bernard  had  quarrelled  witli  his 
grandfather  and  had  been  disinherited.  Then,  to  per- 
plex affairs  still  more,  Judas  had  disappeared,  and  the 
Red  Window,  on  the  evidence  of  Beryl  and  Airs.  Web- 
ber, was  non-existent.  Certainly  the  lady  declared  slie 
saw  it,  but  afterwards  she  thought  she  had  been  mis- 
taken. In  the  interval  someone  must  have  removed  the 
red  light.  But  that  was  a  detail  which  could  be  argued 
later.  In  the  meantime  it  was  necessary  to  fix,  if  pos- 
sible, the  identity  of  the  soldier  who  had  haunted  the 
kitchen  and  who  apparently  so  strongly  resembled  Ber- 
nard as  to  be  mistaken  for  him  by  Jane. 

"  It's  a  plot,"  said  Conniston,  at  length,  while  Ber- 
nard gazed  despairingly  into  the  burning  logs.  "  This 
fellow  who  resembled  3'ou  and  who  took  your  name  is 
the  assassin." 

"  IIow  do  you  make  that  out?  " 

"Why!  He  was  in  the  kitchen  before  six  and  was 
sent  for  by  your  grandfather.  He  at  once  left.  Then 
he  came  back  after  ten  and  was  admitted  by  Mrs.  Gil- 
roy,  who  might  have  made  a  mistake." 

"  She  could  not  mistake  another  man  for  me." 

"  I  don't  know.  This  fellow  evidently  was  your 
double,  or  at  least  was  made  up  to  resemble  you.  But 
that  would  not  be  easy,"  added  Conniston,  staring  at 
his  friend,  "  for  you  have  no  beard  or  mustache,  and 
it  is  difficult  to  mqke  up  like  another  chap  without  such 


A  Statement  of  the  Case  137 

aids.  At  least  I  should  think  so.  And  remember  the 
lamp  in  the  hall  did  not  give  a  very  good  light — so  Dur- 
ham told  me.  The  housemaid  saw  you  only  in  that 
light,  and  therefore  might  have  mistaken  you  for  the 
fellow  who  courted  her.     Mrs.  Gilroy " 

"  She  saw  me  in  the  full  glare  of  the  light  in  the 
sitting-room.     She  recognized  me." 

"  Yes.  But  according  to  her  evidence  she  only  ad- 
mitted your  double  just  after  ten  and  introduced  him 
into  the  sitting-room.  She  did  not  see  him  save  under 
the  hall  lamp." 

"  That  is  true.  But  my  grandfather  would  soon  de- 
tect the  imposition." 

"  Quite  right,"  rejoined  Dick,  smoothly,  "  he  did, 
and  then  the  assassin  murdered  him  after  stifling  him 
with  the  chlorofomi." 

"  But  you  forget  my  grandfather  was  a  passionate 
man.  He  might  and  probably  would  have  made  a 
scene.  Mrs.  Gilroy  below  would  have  heard  the  row 
and  would  have  come  up." 

"  She  may  be  lying  when  she  declares  she  heard 
nothing,"  admitted  Dick.  "  On  the  other  hand,  the 
assassin  may  have  crossed  directly  over  to  your  grand- 
father and  have  stifled  his  cries  by  placing  the  handker- 
chief at  once  over  his  mouth.  Then  he  could  strangle 
him  at  his  leisure  and  clear  out,  as  he  did," 

"  And  then  Mrs.  Gilroy  runs  up,  finds  the  dead,  and 
rushes  out  to  accuse  me.  I  must  have  been  brought  in 
the  nick  of  time,"  said  Bernard,  ironically.  "  No,  Dick, 
there's  more  in  it  than  that.  Mrs.  Gilroy  is  in  the  plot 
whomsoever  contrived  it." 

"  Why,  Beryl  contrived  it.     Tie  wanted  the  money." 

"  Was  he  in  the  house  at  the  time?  " 


138  The  Red  JVindow 

"  No.  He  didn't  commit  the  crime  himself,  if  that 
is  what  you  mean.  lie  with  Miss  Randolph  was  at  the 
Curtain  Theatre,  which  is  near  Crimea  Square.  He 
drove  up  in  his  friend's  Mrs.  "Webber's  carriage  just 
when  the  row  was  on." 

"  Yes."  Bernard  passed  his  hand  across  his  fore- 
head. "  I  should  have  remembered  that.  I  was  in  the 
hall  at  the  time  with  the  hand  of  tlie  policeman  on  my 
shoulder.  But  I  have  grown  so  confused,  Dick,  that 
it's  all  like  a  dream." 

"  A  nightmare  rather.  But  why  do  you  think  Mrs. 
Gilroy  is " 

"  Is  in  the  plot.  Because,  before  she  accused  me,  she 
said  to  herself,  but  loud  enough  for  me  to  hear,  '  It's 
the  only  w'ay!  '  " 

"  Ha,  ho !  "  said  Conniston,  excited,  "  you  can  swear 
to  that." 

"  Of  course  I  can.  But  I  can't  swear  in  the  dock,  and 
that  is  the  only  place  I'm  likely  to  occupy  should  I  be 
caught." 

''  Is  Mrs.  Gilroy  a  friend  of  Beryl's?  " 

"  I  can't  say  that  she  was  ever  anyone's  friend.  She 
even  seemed  to  hate  my  grandfather,  although  he  was 
so  good  to  her.  She  and  Lucy  were  always  quarrelling, 
and  though  she  behaved  civilly  to  me,  I  w^as — as  I  said 
before — never  sure  of  her." 

"  You  can  certainly  be  sure  of  her  now.  But  I  can't 
helj)  thinking  Beryl  had  something  to  do  w'ith  this  plot. 
He  had  a  lot  at  stake.  I  have  heard  tales  about  his 
gambling  that  would  open  your  eyes.  Durham  mad© 
it  his  business  to  find  out  when  he  heard  that  Sir  Simon 
intended  to  disinherit  yon  in  favor  of  Beryl." 

"  Durham  lias  always  been  my  friend,"  said  Bernard, 


A  Statement  of  the  Case  139 

wearily.     "  But  as  Beryl  was  out  of  the  house  he  can't 
have  anything  to  do  with  the  crime." 

"  I'm  not  so  certain  of  that.  He  mig-ht  have  set 
things  in  train,  and  then  have  arranged  the  theatre 
business  so  as  to  provide  himself  with  an  aiifei." 

"You  think  he  hired  someone  to  represent  me?" 

"  I  do,  though,  as  I  say,  it  would  be  hard  for  anyone 
to  disguise  himself  like  you.  You  haven't  a  double, 
have  you  ?  " 

"  ]^ot  that  I  ever  heard  of,"  said  Gore,  unable  to 
restrain  a  smile;  "  but  they  say  everyone  has  a  double." 

"  Well,  we  must  hunt  out  yours.  If  we  find  the 
soldier  who  resembled  you,  and  who  called  himself  by 
your  name,  we  will  be  able  to  prove  that  he  committed 
the  crime." 

"  But  how  can  you  go  to  work?  " 

"  I  hardly  know,  Bernard,  I  must  ask  Durham. 
Meantime  you  can  stay  here.  And  there's  Judas.  I'll 
make  it  my  business  to  hunt  Inm  out.  I  daresay  he  was 
employed  by  Beryl  also." 

"  How  you  harp  on  Beryl." 
"  Because  I  am  sure  he  has  everything  to  do  with  the 
matter.  It  was  a  carefully-arranged  trap,  and  you  have 
fallen  into  it.  What  Mrs.  Gilroy  expects  to  gain  I  can't 
think.  However,  Beryl  has  found  himself  mistaken 
over  the  money.  The  new  will — so  Durham  told  me  to 
tell  you — was  burnt  by  the  old  man,  and  so  the  old  one, 
gi\'ing  you  all,  stands.  Both  Mrs.  Gih-oy  and  Mr.  Beryl 
are  left  out  in  the  cold.  And  that  is  all  the  better  for 
your  safety." 

"  Why?  "  asked  Bernard,  lookiug  puzzled. 

"  Because  the  person  they  hired  to  do  the  business — 
}'()ur  double — will  expect  to  be  paid  a  large  sum.  If 
not,  he  will  round  on  them." 


140  The  Red  Window 

"  You  forget.  If  he  confesses  he  puts  a  rope  round 
his  own.  throat  according  to  your  theory." 

"  True  enough.  But  there's  Judas.  He'll  have  his 
pound  of  flesh,  or  make  an  unholy  row." 

"  Dick,"  said  Bernard,  seriously,  "  it's  impossible 
that  a  lad  of  thirteen  can  be  such  a  villain  as  you  make 
him  out  to  be." 

"  I  tell  you  that  lad  is  a  born  criminal,  and  if  he  goes 
on  as  he  is  doing  he'll  come  to  the  gallows,  where,  ac- 
cording to  his  grandmother,  his  forefathers  suffered 
before  him.  Judas  is  as  cunning  as  a  fox,  and  very 
strong  as  to  his  will.    Also,  he  is  greedy  of  money " 

"  You  describe  a  man  of  experience." 

"  I  don't  know  where  Judas  got  his  experience,"  said 
Conniston,  coolly,  "  but  as  Mrs.  Gamp  said  of  Bailly, 
junior,  '  All  the  wickedness  of  the  world  is  print  to 
him.'  " 

"  I  can't  believe  it  of  such  a  lad." 

"  You'll  have  an  opportunity  of  testing  it  some  day," 
retorted  the  young  lord.  "  I  only  hope  Victoria  doesn't 
correspond  ^\dtll  Judas.  If  she  does,  she'll  tell  him 
about  a  stranger  at  Cove  Castle,  and  Judas,  having  seen 
you  with  me  in  the  Park,  will  be  quite  sharp  enough  to 
put  two  and  two  together.     Then  there  ^vill  be  trouble." 

"  But  why  should  he  connect  me  with  the  crime  un- 
less  " 

"  Unless  he  knows  all.  He  does.  You  are  a  marked 
man,  Bernard.  However,  it's  getting  late.  We'll  talk 
of  this  to-morrow.  I  must  go  and  see  Durham,  and 
bring  him  down  ostensibly  for  shooting." 

"  I  wish  you  would  bring  Alice  over,"  said  Bernard. 
"  My  heart  aches  for  a  sight  of  her  sweet  face." 

"  And  dearly  her  face  has  cost  you,"  said  ConnistoiL 


A  Statement  of  the  Case  141 

'•  However,  I'll  ask  my  dear  aunt  to  come  over,  and 
bring  Alice.  As  Miss  Berengaria  is  a  relative,  it  will 
be  thought  nothing  out  of  the  way.  We'll  save  you 
yet,  Bernard;  only  I  wish  we  had  that  one  piece  of  evi- 
dence— the  handkerchief  you  lost.  Wheo  that  is  found 
we  shall  know  who  is  guilty." 


CHAPTER  XI 

MRS.    GILROY's    past 

After  making  Lucj  the  mistress  of  the  Hall  until  the 
return  of  its  legal  master,  Mark  Durham  returned  to 
town.  Having  regard  to  the  fact  that  Beryl  had  taken 
up  his  quarters  at  the  Conniston  Arms — for  what  pur- 
pose the  lawyer  could  not  determine — he  thought  it 
wiser  not  to  arouse  the  crafty  young  man's  suspicions 
by  a  visit  to  Cove  Castle.  Certainly  this  was  a  some- 
what over-strained  sense  of  caution,  since,  being  Con- 
niston's  lawyer,  he  could  easily  have  gone  there  without 
it  being  thought  odd.  But  Durham  knew  that  Julius, 
driven  to  desperation  by  the  loss  of  the  fortune,  would 
stop  at  nothing  to  accomplish  his  wish  to  obtain  it.  Did 
he  learn  that  Bernard  was  still  alive  he  would  undoubt- 
edly blackmail  him.  And  in  the  present  position  of 
the  case,  when  the  truth  could  not  be  arrived  at,  Ber- 
nard, for  his  own  safety,  would  be  obliged  to  make 
terms.  And  such  terms  as  Beryl  would  demand  could 
not  be  granted. 

Durham  therefore  returned  to  his  business,  and  at 
once  set  to  work.  So  far  he  had  done  all  that  he  could 
to  settle  the  government  of  the  property  during  Gore's 
absence,  and  it  now  remained  to  take  such  steps  as 
would  unravel  the  intricacy  of  what  appeared  to  be  a 
plot  to  oust  him  from  his  rights.  That  Julius  was  at 
the  bottom  of  the  whole  affair  Durham  was  certain,  and 
that  JuKus  had  his  eye  on  him  he  conjectured.    There- 


Mrs.   Gilroys  Past  143 

fore  it  behooved  him  to  move  cautiously  lest  Beryl 
should  counterplot  him.  And  as  in  this  game,  which 
dealt  with  the  issues  of  life  and  death,  Durham's  cards 
were  all  on  the  table  and  Beryl's  were  concealed,  the 
chances  of  victory  lay  with  the  latter.  And  if  Julius 
won,  he  would  certainly  have  no  mercy.  Conniston 
had  written  a  letter  directed  to  the  London  office  statins 
in  full  the  conversation  which  had  taken  place  between 
him  and  Sir  Bernard.  Durham  was  therefore  in  full 
possession  of  all  facts  not  known  to  Julius,  and  after 
turning  over  these  in  his  mind  he  concluded  that  it 
would  be  best  to  start  with  an  examination  of  Jane 
Riordan,  the  delinquent  housemaid.  She  could  not 
possibly  be  in  the  plot,  as  he  had  seen  how  simple  a 
woman  she  was  when  at  the  inquest.  Therefore  she 
certainly,  for  some  strange  reason,  believed  Bernard  to 
be  the  young  soldier  who  had  courted  her.  She  had 
sworn  to  his  photograph,  and  had  addressed  him  in  the 
hall  of  the  Crimea  Square  house  by  his  name.  Appar- 
ently— here  Durham  thought  with  Conniston — some 
person  had  been  impersonating  Bernard,  so  the  lawyer 
sent  a  message  to  Miss  Riordan  asking  her  to  call. 
Then  he  intended  to  question  licr  as  to  the  personality 
and  speech  of  the  double. 

The  housemaid  arrived  dressed  in  her  best  and  look- 
ing rather  downcast.  She  was  evidently  nervous,  and 
could  not  think  what  the  lawyer  wanted  with  her.  Like 
all  her  class  she  had  a  wholesome  horror  of  legal  pro- 
cedure, and  always  kept  out  of  the  clutches  of  the  law. 
But  it  appeared  that  for  her  share  in  receiving  a  fol- 
lower she  had  been  dismissed  by  her  master,  Mr. 
JcflPeries.  Being  without  a  situation  she  grasped  at  tlie 
chance  afforded  of  seeing  Durham,  and  hoped  l)y  work- 


144  The  Bed  Window 

ing  on  his  sympathies  to  secure  a  new  one.  But  for 
this  want  she  woukl  probably  have  refused  the  invita- 
tion. As  it  was  she  duly  appeared,  and  was  accom- 
modated with  a  seat  beside  Durham's  desk.  He  then 
proceeded  to  question  her,  thinking  a  plain,  straightfor- 
ward examination  would  best  get  at  the  truth. 

"  ]^ow  then,"  said  Durham,  wheeling  round  his  chair 
so  that  he  could  look  her  in  the  face.  "  You  know  I 
am  the  solicitor  of  Sir  Bernard  Gore,  who  is  accused  of 
the  murder  of  his  grandfather.  In  spite  of  the  evi- 
dence given,  I  do  not  believe  he  is  guilty." 

"  I  don't  think  so  either,  sir,"  sobbed  Jane,  wdio  had 
got  out  her  handkerchief  at  the  mention  of  the  name. 

"  You  never  knew  him." 

"  Yes,  I  did.  He  courted  me  for  nearly  a  month. 
And  a  sweet  young  man  he  was,  the  very  best  I  ever 
walked  out  with." 

Durham  eyed  her  keenly.  Apparently  she  was 
speaking  as  she  believed,  and  he  considered  that  the 
double  must  resemble  Bernard  in  a  marvellous  degree 
to  make  the  housemaid  thus  sure  of  his  identity  with 
the  accused  young  baronet.  "  You  misunderstand 
me,"  he  said  mildly.  "  However,  I'll  come  to  the  point 
presently.  You  must  answer  me  as  though  you  were  in 
a  witness-box." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Miss  Eiordan,  timidly.  "  But, 
please,  before  I  speak,  could  you  help  me  to  a  new 
situation?  Mr.  Jefferies  dismissed  me  because  I  walked 
out  with  Bernard  and  received  him  in  the  kitchen." 

"  Hum,"  said  Durham,  reflectively.  He  did  not  know 
very  well  what  to  say  at  the  outset  as  he  was  by  no 
means  prepared  to  promise  to  assist  her  off-hand.  But 
on  consideration  he  saw  the  necessity  of  keeping  so 


Mrs.   Gilroy's  Past  145 

valuable  a  witness  under  his  own  eye  and  away  from 
Beryl,  always  supposing  Beryl  to  be  mixed  up  in  the 
matter.  lie  therefore  made  up  his  mind  s^\^ftly,  and 
in  his  answer  gained  Jane's  goodwill.  "  Yes,  I  can 
help  you,"  he  said;  "ray  housekeeper  wants  a  house- 
maid. I  will  give  you  my  address  and  a  letter  to  her. 
Go  to  Camden  Hill  and  if  your  character  is  satisfactory 
she  will  engage  you." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  sir,"  said  Jane,  effusively.  "  I'm 
sure  my  character  is  all  that  can  be  desired,  save  in  this 
last  trouble.     But  Bernard  was  such  an  agreeable " 

"There!  there!"  interrupted  Durham,  cutting  her 
short,  "  we  won't  talk  of  that  just  now.  This  last  epi- 
sode of  your  career  will  not  stand  in  the  way  of  my 
housekeeper  engaging  you.  I'll  make  that  clear  to  her 
in  my  letter.  Come  now,  will  you  answer  my  ques- 
tions?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  Any  you  like  to  ask,"  said  Jane,  delighted 
at  the  gTanting  of  her  petition,  and  privately  thinking 
Durham  a  sweet  gentleman. 

"Good!"  said  the  lawyer  in  an  official  manner. 
"  What  is  your  name?  " 

"  Jane  Riordan." 

Durham  noted  this  and  her  other  answers  down. 

"  You  were  how  long  at  Mr.  Jefferies?  " 

"  Six  months,  sir." 

"  When  did  you  first  see  this  soldier? " 

"  Bernard,  sir.  In  the  Park,  about  a  month  before 
Sir  Simon  came." 

"How  did  he  become  acquainted  with  you?" 

Jane  giggled  and  looked  down.  "  Well,  sir,"  she 
said,  blushing,  "  I  am  not  bad-looking  and  Bernard — " 

"  He  called  himself  Bernard?  " 


146  The  Red  JVindow 

"  Yes,  sir.  He  said  lie  was  a  corporal  in  the  Imperial 
Yeomanry.     He  had  seen  me  in  Crimea  Square." 

"  In  this  house?  " 

"  'No,  sir.  Leaving  the  house.  He  said  he  had  come 
several  times,  being  taken  with  my  looks,  and  that  he 
always  wanted  to  know  me.  As  he  was  so  handsome, 
sir,  and  spoke  so  civil,  we  walked  out.  He  treated  me 
to  tea  in  the  Park,  and  then  I  asked  him  to  meet  cook. 
He  accepted  at  once,  sir,  and  most  willingly." 

"  I  daresay,"  muttered  Durham,  seeing  in  this  meet- 
ing how  the  scamp  had  forced  his  company  on  the  girl 
so  as  to  enter  the  house  likely  to  be  occupied  by  Sir 
Simon.     "  And  he  came?  " 

"Many  times,  sir — oh!  many  times,  and  made  him- 
self so  agreeable  that  cook  was  quite  jealous." 

"  Who  did  he  say  he  was?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  he  did  nothing  but  hint,  saying  he  was  a 
gentleman  of  high  rank,  as  could  be  seen  from  his 
manners,  and  that  he  had  enlisted  because  of  a  quarrel 
he  had  with  his  grandfather.  But  I  never  knew  he  was 
Sir  Simon's  grandson  until  I  lost  him,"  sobbed  Jane. 
"  Oh,  dear  me,  and  to  think  I  would  have  been  Lady 
Gore,  with  diamonds  and  fine  clothes,  had  he  lived." 

"  Hum!  "  said  Durham,  digging  the  point  of  his 
pencil  into  the  blotting  paper,  "  so  he  practically  told 
you  the  story  of  Sir  Bernard." 

"  Yes,  sir,  as  I  afterwards  learned  it.  And  wasn't 
that  natural,  sir,  seeing  he  was  Sir  Bernard?  " 

"  Are  you  sure  he  was?  " 

Jane  stared.  "  Why,  sir,  he  was  always  frightened 
w^ien  Mrs.  Gilroy  came  down  to  the  kitchen  and  said 
she  was  his  enemv,  and  that  if  she  saw  him  he  could 
never  marry  me,    I  didn't  know  what  he  meant  at  that 


Mrs.   Gilroy's  Past  147 

time,  but  I  see  now.  She  would  have  said  who  he  was. 
I  used  to  hide  him  in  cupboards,  and  once  in  the  coal 
cellar.  Cook  and  William  never  told,  being  sympa- 
thetic like!" 

"  Did  he  speak  in  educated  manner?  " 

"  Like  the  gentleman  he  was,  sir,  having  been  edu- 
cated at  Eton." 

"  When  you  saw  him  in  the  grasp  of  the  policeman 
did  you  recognize  him?  Was  he  the  same  man  who 
courted  you?  " 

Jane  stared  again  and  looked  puzzled.  "  There  isn't 
two,  sir,  that  I  know  of,"  she  said;  "  and  now,"  with  a 
fresh  burst  of  tears,  "  there  isn't  one,  seeing  he  is 
drowned.  Oh  dear,  dear  me.  Yes,  sir,  I  knew  him  at 
once,  although  the  light  Avas  bad.  And  when  I  would 
have  seen  him  plainer,  Mrs.  Gilroy  would  not  let  him 
be  brought  under  the  lamp." 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  said  Durham,  making  a  note  of  this. 
"  Look  here,"  and  he  held  out  a  large  portrait  of  Ber- 
nard, different  to  that  shown  at  the  inquest.  "  You 
recognize  this,  I  suppose?  " 

"  That's  my  Bernard,  sir." 

"  Is  it  a  good  likeness?  " 

Jane  examined  the  photograph  closely.  "  Not  what 
I'd  call  a  very  good  one,  sir,  neither  was  the  other. 
There's  a  look  wanting." 

"  What  sort  of  a  look?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  you  might  call  it  a  rougish  look,  of  a 
gentleman  who  had  seen  life  and  had  been  gay.  This 
portrait  is  sad  and  horrid  looking.  I  should  have  been 
afraid  to  be  courted  by  Bernard  if  he  had  looked  like 
this.  But  he  was  always  bright  and  full  of  larks.  Then 
he  has  not  got  a  spot  on  his  chin  as  he  has  here.  I 
suppose  he  cut  himself  shaving  when  he  had  this  done." 


148  The  Red  Whidoxv 

Durham  started.  Here  was  a  means  of  identification. 
Bernard  had  a  rather  large  mole  on  the  left  of  his 
chin.  "  Didn't  the  man  who  walked  out  with  you  have 
this  spot?  "  he  said,  purposely  adopting  the  word  she 
had  used. 

"  No,  sir.  He  had  a  chin  like  a  new-born  infant, 
smooth  and  white." 

"  Did  he  ever  write  you  a  letter?  " 

Jane  blushed  again.  "  Just  a  short  note  making  an 
appointment,  sir,"  she  said,  feeling  in  her  breast,  "  it 
being  early  for  love  letters,  and  me  being  a  most  re- 
spectable young  lady.     I  carry  it  next  my  heart." 

Durham  took  the  note  she  handed  him  without  hes- 
itation, and  glanced  through  it.  The  writing  was  not 
unlike  that  of  Bernard's,  yet  he  saw  very  plainly  that 
it  lacked  several  characteristics  which  distinguished  that 
of  Gore.  The  note  simply  asked  Jane  to  meet  the 
writer  on  Sunday  at  the  Marble  Arch,  and  was  signed 
"  Bernard." 

"  I'll  give  you  a  sovereign  for  this,"  said  Durham, 
quietly. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Jane,  accepting  vinthout  a  mo- 
ment's hesitation.  "  Of  course,  Bernard's  dead  now,  so 
there's  no  use  keeping  his  letters,  but  if  he'd  been  alive 
I'd  have  kept  them  on  the  chance  of  his  not  making  me 
Lady  Gore!" 

"  Did  he  wear  any  rings?  "  asked  Durham,  paying 
the  money  and  putting  the  letter  away. 

"  Three,  sir.    Two  gold  and  one  silver." 

This  was  another  point  of  difference.  Bernard  hated 
rings  and  never  by  any  chance  wore  any,  not  even  a 
signet  ring.  But  by  this  time  Jane's  information  was 
exhausted,  and  Durham  concluded  her  examination  for 


Mrs.  Gilroy's  Past  149 

the  moment.  He  would  be  able  to  resume  it  later 
when  necessary,  and  congratulated  himself  on  the  fact 
that  he  had  secured  Jane  as  his  housemaid.  When 
brought  face  to  face  with  the  real  Bernard  she  would 
be  able  to  see  the  difference  between  him  and  his  double. 
And  then  she  might  also  be  able  to  recognize  the  double 
should  he  be  found.  Just  as  he  was  dismissing  Jane 
with  a  letter  to  his  housekeeper  a  clerk  brought  in  a 
name  written  on  a  piece  of  paper.  "  Mrs.  Gilroj,"  said 
Durham  to  himself,  wondering  greatly,  "  Tell  her  to 
come  in,"  he  said  aloud,  and  ushered  Jane  out  quickly 
by  another  door.  It  would  never  have  done  to  have 
let  Mrs.  Gilroy  meet  her,  seeing  that  the  Hall  house- 
keeper was  hostile  to  Bernard.  So  Jane  departed  re- 
joicing, and  Durham  went  back  to  his  desk  well  satis- 
fied. 

"  Bernard  never  wrote  this  note,  as  it  is  different 
in  many  ways  to  his  writing,"  he  murmured.  "  Ber- 
nard never  wears  rigns,  and  he  has  a  mole  on  his  chin 
which  this  double  apparently  lacks.  Without  doubt  the 
impersonation  has  been  very  clever.  But  I  wonder  how 
I  am  to  find  the  double." 

Before  he  could  reply  to  this  perplexing  question,  the 
clerk  showed  in  Mrs.  Gilroy,  as  demure  and  sly-looking 
as  ever.  She  was  richlv  dressed  in  black  silk,  much 
better  dressed  in  fact  than  she  had  ever  been  during  tho 
life  of  her  master.  Also  Durham  noted  that  there  was 
an  agressive  air  about  her  which  he  had  not  noticed  be- 
fore. Perhaps  this  was  due  to  her  receipt  of  an  an- 
nuity. Slic  was  not  a  lady,  and  yet  she  could  not  be 
called  common.  Durham  had  never  examined  her  care- 
full  v  1)ef(>r(',  but  imw  that  she  was  dangerous  to  Gore's 
interest  he  looked  at  her  carefully.     A  strange  womau 


150  The  Red  IVindow 

and  a  dangerous  was  bis  verdict.  He  proceeded  to  feel 
his  way  cautiously,  wondering  what  she  had  come  about. 

"  It's  to  see  me  about  your  annuity? "  he  said,  ten- 
tatively. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Gilroy,  coldly,  and  took  the  scat 
which  had  been  vacated  by  Jane.  "  My  beggarly  an- 
nuity? " 

The  la^^"yer,  who  had  taken  up  his  position  before  the 
fire  with  his  hands  under  the  tails  of  his  frock  coat, 
turned  to  look  at  her.  The  bitterness  of  the  tone 
startled  him.     "  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Mean!  "  echoed  Mrs.  Gilroy,  ^\'ith  a  vindictive  glit- 
ter in  her  pale  eyes.  "  That  Sir  Simon  promised  me 
five  hundred  a  year  for  life." 

"  Oh,  you  must  be  mistaken,"  said  Durham,  quickly. 
"  He  never  said  you  were  to  have  more  than  one  hun- 
dred." 

"  He  might  not  to  you,  but  he  did  to  me,"  said  the 
housekeeper,  doggedly.  "  I  have  a  right  to  five  hun- 
dred." 

"I  think  not,"  said  the  lawyer,  calmly.  "  And  let 
me  tell  you,  Mrs.  Gilroy,  that  Sir  Simon  did  not  place 
your  name  at  all  in  the  second  will.  Had  it  been  exe- 
cuted, you  would  not  have  had  even  the  one  hundred 
you  despise.  Therefore,  you  may  congratulate  your- 
self " — he  watched  her  face  while  speaking — "  that  Sir 
Simon  changed  his  mind  about  disinheriting  his  grand- 
son." 

The  woman's  eyes  glittered  still  more  maliciously  and 
a  color  rose  in  her  bloodless  cheeks.  "  Oh !  "  she  said, 
with  icy  disdain,  "  so  Sir  Simon  would  have  deprived 
mo  of  my  rights,  would  lie?  It's  lucky  he's  dead,  or 
he'd  find  himself  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  hedge  with 
me."- 


Mrs.   Gilroy's  Past  151 

"Ah!"  Durham  resumed  his  seat  and  waited  to 
hear  what  would  come  forth.  And  something  would 
come  out  not  easily  attainable  at  other  times,  for  Mrs. 
Gilroy  was  apparently  losing  her  temper.  This  was 
most  extraordinary  for  her,  as  she  was  usually  cautious. 
But  since  the  death  of  her  master,  who  had  kept  her  in 
check,  she  seemed  to  be  a  much  more  reckless  woman. 
The  lawyer  had  always  wondered  what  bond  held  Sir 
Simon  and  the  housekeeper  together,  and  now  there 
seemed  some  likelihood  that  he  would  learn,  if  he  held 
his  tongue  and  allowed  full  play  to  that  of  Mrs.  Gilroy. 

"  I  knew  how  it  would  be,"  she  muttered.  "  I 
guessed  he  would  play  me  false.  He  never  was  worth  a 
kekaubi." 

"  You  are  a  gipsy,"  said  Durham,  looking  up. 

"  What  makes  you  say  that?  " 

"  Kekaubi  is  Romany  for  kettle.  You  wouldn't  use 
it  unless — " 

"  Who  I  am  is  nothing  to  you,"  interrupted  Mrs. 
Gilroy,  sharply. 

"Yet  you  don't  resemble  the  Romany!  "  said  Dur- 
ham, looking  at  her  drab  appearance.  "  Your  eyes  are 
pale  and  your  hair — " 

"  Let  my  appearance  be,  Mr.  Durham.  I  am  here  for 
justice,  not  to  hear  my  looks  discussed.  Sir  Simon  left 
me  one  hundred  a  year.  I  want  you  as  the  executor  of 
the  estate  to  make  it  the  five  hundred  he  promised  me." 

"  I  don't  know  that  he  promised  you  that  sum,"  said 
the  solicitor,  "  and  even  if  he  did  I  cannot  give  it  to 
you.    The  money  now  belongs  to  Sir  Bernard  Gore." 

"  He  is  supposed  to  be  dead." 

"  You  put  it  rightly,"  replied  the  man.  "  He  is  sup- 
posed to  be  dead,  but  until  his  dead  body  is  found  I  will 


152  The  Red  Window 

administer  the  estate  on  his  behalf.  But  I  have  no 
power  to  help  you," 

Mrs.  Gilroy  seemed  struck  by  this  view  of  the  case. 
"  Suppose  Sir  Bernard  isn't  dead?  "  she  asked. 

Durham  felt  a  qualm  and  suppressed  a  start  with 
difficulty.  Had  this  dangerous  woman  discovered  the 
fugitive  at  Cove  Castle.  "  Do  you  know  if  he  is  alive?  " 
asked  Durham,  quietly  looking  at  her. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Mrs.  Gilroy,  who  seemed  to  be 
thinking.  Then  she  rose.  "  I  don't  know  that  I  need 
bother  you  further,"  she  said. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  why  you  demand  this  money?  " 

"  Because  Sir  Simon  promised  it  to  me." 

"  On  what  grounds." 

"  On  very  good  grounds," 

"  VA^ill  you  tell  me  what  they  are? " 

"  Will  you  give  me  the  five  hundred  a  year  if  I  do?  " 
she  countered. 

"  That  is  out  of  my  power.  When  Sir  Bernard  ap- 
pears I  will  speak  to  him  on  the  subject  if  your  claim 
is  a  good  one." 

"  My  claim  is  an  excellent  one,"  she  burst  out,  rais- 
ing herself  to  her  full  height.  "  It  is  the  claim  of  a 
wronged  woman!  "  She  paused.  "  I  want  to  ask  you 
about  the  will,"  she  said.  "  Is  it  worded  that  the  money 
is  left  "  to  my  grandson." 

"  To  my  grandson  Bernard  Gore." 

"  The  name  is  mentioned," 

"  It  is.     The  money  is  clearly  left  to  Sir  Bernard." 

"  Sir  Bernard,"  she  sneered.  "Why  give  him.  a  title 
to  which  he  has  no  claim  ?  The  money  may  be  his,  else 
I  would  not  toll  you  what  I  now  do  tell  you.  My  son 
is  the  baronet — my  son  Michael." 


Mrs.   Gilroy's  Past  153 


Durham  stared  at  her,  quite  taken  aback.  "  What 
on  earth  are  you  talking  about,  Mrs.  Gilroj?  "  he  de- 
manded. 

"  Mrs.  Gilroy,"  she  echoed  with  scorn.  "  I  shall  no 
longer  use  a  false  name.    I  am  Mrs.  Walter  Gore." 

"  Impossible.  Walter  Gore  was  married  to  Bianca 
Tolomeo!  " 

"  He  was  married  to  me  first/'  said  Mrs.  Gilroy, 
rapidly.  "  Yes,  you  may  stare,  but  I  am  the  lawful 
wife  of  Walter  Gore  and  my  son  Michael  is  the  heir. 
He  is  the  image  of  his  father.  There's  no  trickery 
about  the  matter." 

"  The  image  of  his  father,"  cried  Durham,  a  sudden 
light  breaking  in  upon  him.  "  And  Walter  Gore  was 
tall,  slim,  the  image  of  his  son  Bernard.  Mrs.  Gore,  or 
Mrs.  Gilroy,  or  whatever  you  call  yourself,  was  it  your 
son  who  murdered  his  grandfather?  " 

The  woman  became  livid.  "  ^o,  I  swear  he  didn't. 
He  is  in  America." 

"  He  is  in  England,  and  he  masqueraded  as  Bernard 
when  courting  Jane  the  housemaid,"  said  Durham,  ex- 
citedly. "  You  say  yourself  he  resembled  Walter  Gore. 
Bernard  is  exactly  like  his  father,  so  ]\Iichael  must  re- 
semble him  sufficiently  to  pass  as  him." 

"  It  is  absolutely  false !  "  cried  Mrs.  Gilroy,  seeing 
she  had  fallen  into  the  trap  of  her  own  words.  "  My 
son  is  in  America.  You  shall  not  prove  him  guilty. 
I  opened  the  door  to  Bernard." 

"  To  Michael.  You  perhaps  mistook  him  for  Ber- 
nard." 

"  A  mother  can't  mistake  her  own  son.  But  Michael 
is  the  heir.  I  shall  write  to  America  and  bring  him 
home.    I  can  prove  my  marriage  with  Walter  Gore." 


154  The  Red  Window 


"  Do  so  by  all  means/'  said  Durham,  recovering  his 
wits.  "  I  am  acting  for  Sir  Bernard,  and  he  shall  not 
lose  the  title  if  I  can  help  it.  I  see  you  are  playing  a 
deep  game,  Mrs.  Gilroy,  but  you  have  let  out  too  much. 
I  shall  now  search  for  Michael,  your  son,  and  see  if  he 
was  not  in  London  on  the  night  of  the  twenty-third  of 
October." 

Mrs.  Gilroy,  pale  and  looking  like  a  tigress  at  bay, 
drew  back  to  the  door  without  a  word.  Before  Durham 
knew  of  her  intention  she  opened  it  and  slipped  away. 
He  did  not  seek  to  detain  her. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE   NEW    PAGE 

Things  went  very  smoothly  at  Gore  Hall  after  Dur- 
ham had  established  Lucy  as  its  mistress  during  the 
absence  of  Bernard.  The  girl  herself  firmly  believed 
that  her  cousin  was  dead  and  assumed  deep  mourning. 
She  had  been  fond  of  Bernard  in  a  sisterly  way,  and 
felt  his  loss  deeply.  It  was  her  outspoken  affection 
that  provoked  a  quarrel  between  her  and  Julius,  and 
which  led  to  the  breaking  of  their  engagement.  Lucy 
had  a  high  temper,  which  had  been  kept  in  subjection 
during  the  life  of  Sir  Simon.  But  now  that  she  tasted 
the  sweets  of  power  she  was  not  disposed  to  allow  Julius 
to  treat  her  as  he  chose. 

Mrs.  Gilroy  came  back  from  her  visit  to  the  lawyer 
in  rather  a  dejected  frame  of  mind.  She  saw  that  she 
had  gone  too  far  and  had  given  Durham  an  inkling  as 
to  the  possibility  of  Michael  having  masqueraded  as 
Bernard.  The  housekeeper  had  thought  her  position 
unassailable,  knowing  that  she  had  married  Walter 
Gore;  and  although  there  was  a  flaw  in  the  circum- 
stances upon  which  she  built  her  claim,  yet  she  trusted 
to  her  own  cleverness  to  conceal  this  from  the  too- 
clever  lawyer.  But,  apart  from  this,  the  fact  that  he 
suspected  someone  of  passing  himself  off  as  Bernard 
startled  her,  and  opened  an  abyss  at  her  feet.  On  leav- 
ing the  office  she  judged  it  best  to  lower  her  crest  for 
the  moment  and  to  wait  patiently  to  see  what  would 


156  The  Red  JVindow 

transpire.  Mrs.  Gilroy  was  a  well-educated  woman  and 
very  astute,  therefore  she  hoped  to  gain  her  ends  by 
craft  if  not  by  force.  So  far  she  had  failed,  but  she  did 
not  intend  to  abandon  her  claim  for  one  failure. 

As  it  was,  she  came  back  to  the  Hall  and  behaved 
herself  much  better  than  she  had  ever  done  before. 
She  was  respectful  to  Lucy,  and  did  not  display  her 
impatience  of  commands  that  she  had  hitherto  done. 
No  one  could  have  been  meeker,  and  although  Miss 
Ttandolph  did  not  like  or  trust  the  woman,  she  had  no 
fault  to  find  with  her  in  any  way. 

Lucy  suffered  severely  from  the  shock  of  Sir  Simon's 
tragic  death,  and  from  the  supposed  death  of  Sir  Ber- 
nard. In  fact,  the  matter  so  preyed  on  her  nerves 
that  she  became  prostrate,  and  Dr.  Payne  had  to  be 
called  in.  He  was  a  handsome  and  popular  young  doc- 
tor who  had  practiced  in  Hurseton.  As  this  was  the 
first  time  he  had  been  called  to  the  Hall,  he  was  natur- 
ally very  pleased,  and  was  very  attentive. 

"  A  complete  rest  is  what  you  need,"  he  said  to  Miss 
Randolph.  "  I  think  you  should  keep  to  your  bed  as 
much  as  possible,  and  I  will  give  you  a  tonic.  JSTatur- 
ally  you  suffer  from  the  terrible  circumstances  of  Sir 
Simon's  death."  He  thought  a  moment  and  then  con- 
tinued, "  cheerful  companion  would  do  you  good.  Shall 
I  ask  Miss  Malleson  to  come  over." 

"  Is  she  cheerful?  "  asked  Lucy  languidly.  "  I  fear 
not,  doctor.  She  was  engaged  to  my  cousin,  and  his 
death  has  made  her  sad." 

"  Probably,  but  she  bears  up  wonderfully.  But  that 
she  is  in  mourning  one  would  hardly  guess  she  had  sus- 
tained such  a  loss.  Was  she  very  much  attached  to  Mr. 
Gore?" 


The  New  Page  157 


"  Yes.  I  never  saw  a  more  attached  couple.  Did 
you  ever  meet  him?  " 

"  Once  at  Miss  Plantagenet's.  You  know  I  am  great 
friends  with  the  old  lady.  I  often  visit  her,  not  pro- 
fessionally, for  she  is  as  healthy  as  a  trout  in  a  pond." 

"  Is  AKce — Miss  Malleson  also  well?  " 

"  In  very  good  health,  and  appears  resigned  to  her 
loss." 

"  I  should  have  thought  she  would  have  felt  it  more," 
said  Lucy,  perplexed.    "  Alice  has  such  a  tender  heart." 

Dr.  Payne  was  doubtful.  So  far  as  he  saw,  Miss 
Malleson  was  remarkably  cheerful  under  her  sorrow. 
"  She  is  philosophic.  Miss  Randolph,  and  that  is  wise. 
I  think,  however,  if  you  would  have  her  over  to  see 
you,  it  would  do  both  her  and  yourself  good." 

"  I  shall  write  a  note  to  her  to-day,"  said  Lucy.  "  I 
am  very  fond  of  her,  and  we  get  on  very  well  together. 
Poor  Alice.  I  wish  Bernard  had  lived,  so  that  he  could 
have  married  her." 

"  From  what  I  read  in  the  papers  it  is  just  as  well  Mr. 
Gore  did  not  live,"  said  Payne,  rising  to  take  his  leave. 
"  If  he  was  guilty—" 

"  Ah !  "  said  Lucy,  raising  herself  with  animation 
from  the  sofa  upon  which  she  was  lying.  "  If  he  was 
guilty.  There  it  is,  doctor.  I  do  not  believe  he  was. 
Bernard  had  a  high  temper,  but  he  could  not  always 
control  it,  and  was  a  kind-hearted  boy.  He  is  innocent 
I  am  sure." 

"  How  are  you  sure,  my  dear  Lucy? "  asked  a  third 
voice,  and  she  looked  up  to  see  Julius  standing  in  the 
doorwav.  He  came  forward.  "  Forgive  me  if  I  heard 
a  few  words  of  your  conversation.  But  I  have  just 
come  in.    Dr.  Payne,  I  hope  I  see  you  well." 


158  The  Red  Window 

"  Quite  well,"  said  the  doctor,  who  did  not  like 
Beryl,  thinking  him,  in  schoolboy  phrase,  "  a  sneak." 
'^  I  am  just  going,  Mr.  Beryl." 

"  Are  you  ill,  Lucy?  "  asked  Beryl,  with  aflfeetion. 

"  I  have  an  attack  of  nerves,"  she  replied  pettishly. 
"  Poor  Bernard's  death  has  shaken  me." 

"  It  is  just  as  well  he  did  die,  though." 

"  I  have  been  saying  that,"  said  Payne;  "  but  I  must 
take  my  leave.  I  will  come  and  see  you  again.  Miss 
Eandolph,  and  remember  what  I  told  you.  Rest  and 
cheerful  company — Miss  Malleson's  for  choice." 

He  departed  smiling,  and  they  heard  him  gallop  off. 
"When  the  sound  of  the  horse's  hoofs  died  away,  Julius, 
who  was  looking  out  of  the  window,  turned  abruptly 
to  Lucy.  "  Why  do  you  think  Bernard  is  innocent?  " 
he  asked. 

"  Because,  if  he  is  guilty,  his  action  gives  the  lie  to 
his  whole  life,  Julius,"  she  replied,  raising  herself  on 
her  elbow.     "  I  can't  believe  he  killed  my  uncle." 

"  Sir  Simon  is  not  your  uncle,"  said  Beryl,  jealously. 
"  You  are  only  a  distant  relative." 

"  Perhaps  my  marriage  with  you  may  make  me  a 
nearer  one." 

"  If  we  ever  do  marry,"  said  Julius,  gloomily. 

"  So  far  as  I  am  concerned  I  should  like  to  break  the 
engagement,  Julius.  We  were  never  suited  to  one 
another." 

Beryl's  vanity  was  hurt.  "  Why  did  you  accept  me 
then  ?" 

"  AVhat  else  could  I  do?  It  was  Sir  Simon's  wish 
that  we  should  marry,  and,  o\\dng  to  my  circumstances, 
I  had  no  choice  in  the  matter.  During  his  life  I  was 
merely  a  puppet.    But  you  do  not  care  for  me." 


IVie  Ncxv  Page  159 


"  I  do.     I  swear  I  do." 

"  Although  you  swore  for  an  hour,  I  should  never 
believe  you.  There  is  only  one  thing  in  this  world  you 
love,  Julius,  and  that  is  money.  You  told  Sir  Simon 
about  Bernard  being  in  love  with  Alice,  that  the  poor 
boy  might  be  disinherited." 

Beryl  did  not  deny  the  charge.  "  I  believe  you  are 
in  love  \vith  Bernard  yourself,"  he  said. 

"  !No.  Bernard  and  I  are  like  brother  and  sister. 
But  he  is  dead,  so  you  need  not  cast  stones  at  his  mem- 
ory." 

"  Are  you  sure  he  is  dead?  "  asked  Beryl,  warming 
his  hands. 

Lucy  sat  up  on  the  sofa  and  pushed  the  loose  hair 
back  from  her  forehead.  "Why  do  you  say  that?" 
she  asked  sharply. 

Julius  stared  at  the  fire.  "  I  can't  understand  Dur- 
ham's attitude,"  he  said  evasively.  "  He  must  know 
that  Bernard  is  dead,  seeing  that  the  coat  and  hat  were 
found  on  the  banks  of  the  river.  No  man  could  have 
lived  in  the  cold  and  the  fog.  Yet  if  Durham  was 
sure  he  would  not  hold  the  estate  against  Bernard's 
coming." 

"  Mr.  Durham  requires  proof  of  the  death,"  rejoined 
Lucy,  sharply;  "  and  until  then,  he  is  bound  to  ad- 
minister the  estate  according  to  the  will.  As  Bernard's 
body  has  not  been  found,  there  is  always  a  chance  that 
he  may  have  escaped." 

"  I  sincerely  trust  not." 

"Ah!     You  always  hated  Bernard." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  speak  for  his  good.    What's  the 


use  of  his  coming  to  life  when  he  must  suffer  for  his 


crime  ? 


?» 


160  The  Red  JVindow 

"  I  don't  believe  he  committed  it,"  said  Lucv,  dog- 
gedly. 

"  You  have  no  grounds  for  saying  that,"  said  Julius, 
pale  vdth  rage. 

"  I  don't  need  grounds,"  retorted  the  genuine  woman. 
"  Bernard  always  was  as  kind-hearted  as  you  were — and 
are,  the  reverse." 

"  I  am  not  hard-hearted,"  snapped  Beryl.  "  I  always 
do  good — " 

"  When  it  is  to  your  own  benefit." 

"  IsTot  always.  For  instance,  I  am  down  here  to  get 
a  small  boy  a  post  with  Miss  Plantagenet  as  a  page." 

"  That  is  very  good  of  you,"  said  Lucy,  scornfully. 

"  Ah,  you  see  I  can  do  a  kind  action.  This  boy  is  a 
grandson  of  Lord  Conniston's  housekeeper,  Mrs.  ]\roon. 

"  At  Cove  Castle,"  said  Lucy,  with  some  color  in  her 
face.     "  I  know." 

"Do  you  know  Lord  Conniston?  "  asked  Julius  sus- 
piciously. 

"  I  have  met  him  once.  He  seems  to  be  a  most  de- 
lightful fellow." 

"  What  a  delightful  speech  for  a  lady,"  said  Beryl. 
"  Conniston  is  a  scamp.  I  heard  he  enlisted  in  the 
Lancers." 

"  It  shows  how  brave  he  is.  Every  man  worth  calling 
a  man  should  go  to  the  front." 

Perhaps  you  would  like  me  to  go,"  sneered  Julius. 
You  would  never  have  the  pluck,"  said  Lucy, 
quickly.  "  All  your  ends  in  life  are  gained  by  cunning, 
not  by  bravery." 

"  Lucy,  if  you  talk  to  me  like  that — "  began  Beryl, 
and  then  restrained  himself  \vith  an  effort.  "  It  is  no 
use  our  quarrelling.     Let  me  show  you  that  I  am  not 


The  New  Page  161 


so  careless  of  others  or  so  hard-hearted  as  I  seem  to  be. 
Miss  Plantagenet  wants  a  page.  I  found  this  lad  in 
London  selling  matches.  He  was  a  messenger  boy  at 
a  tobacconist  called  Taberley,  and  Lord  Conniston  got 
him  turned  out  of  the  situation." 

"  I  don't  believe  that." 

"  It  is  true.  The  boy  told  me  himself.  He  will  tell 
you  if  you  like  to  see  him." 

"  I  don't  want  to  see  him.  Lord  Conniston  is  too 
kind  a  man  to  behave  in  that  way.  He  was  fond  of 
Bernard." 

"  And  that  makes  him  perfect  in  your  eyes,"  said 
Beryl,  looking  savage.  "  See  here,  Lucy,  Conniston 
has  left  the  army — so  you  see  he  is  not  so  brave  as  you 
think." 

"  He  left  so  as  to  seek  after  Bernard,"  said  Lucy, 
quickly.    "  Mr.  Durham  told  me  so." 

"  To  seek  after  Bernard,"  said  Julius,  slowly,  "  and 
I  believe  Bernard  may  be  alive  after  all." 

"  In  which  case  you  would  give  him  up  to  the  police." 

"  No,"  said  Julius  mth  an  emotion  which  did  him 
credit,  "  I  should  never  betray  him.  Lucy,  if  you  can 
find  out  from  Lord  Conniston  or  Durham  that  Bernard 
is  alive,  let  me  know  and  I'll  see  what  I  can  do  to  help 
him." 

"  How  can  you  help  him  when  you  believe  him 
guilty?  " 

"  I  might  help  him  to  escape.  I  don't  want  to  see 
him  hanged." 

"  He  won't  be  hanged  if  Lord  Conniston  and  Mr. 
Durham  can  save  him." 

"Ah!"  Julius  started  to  his  feet.  "Then  he  is 
alive." 


162  The  Red  JVindow 

"  I  can't  say.  I  have  no  reason  to  think  he  is.  But 
I  am  hoping  against  hope,"  said  Lucy,  rising,  "  I 
merely  state  what  was  said.  Mr.  Durham  and  Lord 
Conniston  both  told  Alice  that  Bernard  was  innocent." 

"  They  will  find  it  difficult  to  prove  that,"  sneered 
Beryl,  with  a  white  face.  "  I  believe  the  fellow  is  alive 
after  all.  If  he  is  I'll  make  it  my  business  to  find  out 
where  he  is." 

"  And  then?  "  asked  Lucy,  starting  up  and  facing 
Beryl. 

"  Then  it  depends  upon  Bernard  himself." 

"  Ah!  You  would  make  him  pay  money  to  save  him- 
self." 

"  I  have  a  right  to  a  portion  of  the  estate." 

"  You  have  not,"  said  Miss  Randolph,  clenching  her 
fists  and  all  her  languor  gone.  "  Bernard  is  the  owner 
of  Gore  Hall  and  of  all  the  property,  and  of  the  title 
also.  If  he  is  alive,  as  I  sincerely  hope,  his  name  will 
be  cleared." 

"  And  then  you  will  throw  me  over  and  try  to  be- 
come Lady  Gore." 

"  I  throw  you  over  now,"  said  Lucy,  losing  her  tem- 
per and  coloring  hotly.  "  How  dare  you  speak  to  me 
like  this,  Julius!  I  will  no  longer  be  bound  to  you. 
I  never  loved  you,  but  I  have  always  tried  to  see  the 
best  side  of  you.  But  you  have  no  good  side.  You  are 
a  mean,  cowardly  serpent,  and  if  Bernard  is  alive  I 
shall  do  my  best  to  defend  him  from  your  snares." 

"  But  Lucy—" 

"  Don't  speak  to  me,  and  don't  dare  to  call  me  again 
by  that  name.  I  give  you  back  your  ring — here  it  is!  " 
She  wrenched  it  from  her  finger.  "  JSTow  leave  the 
house,  Mr.  Beryl.     I  am  mistress  here." 


The  New  Page  163 


Julius  looked  at  the  ring  which  she  had  thrown  at  his 
feet,  and  laughed.  "  You  take  a  high  tone,"  he  said 
sneeringly.  "  But  remember  that  if  Bernard  is  dead 
the  money  goes  to  charities — " 

"  So  much  the  better.    You  do  not  get  it." 

"  ISTor  you  either.  You  will  have  to  turn  out  of  this 
luxurious  home  and  live  on  the  pittance  Sir  Simon  left 
you." 

"  Would  I  be  better  off  if  I  married  you?  " 

"  I  think  you  would.  I  have  not  much  money  now, 
but  I  will  have  some — a  great  deal  some  day." 

"  By  blackmailing  Bernard,"  said  Lucy,  indignantly. 

Julius  picked  up  the  ring  and  slipped  it  into  his 
waistcoat  pocket  calmly.  "  We  don't  know  that  Ber- 
nard is  alive.  But  the  fact  of  Conniston  leaving  the 
army  and  from  Durham's  attitude  I  shrewdly  suspect 
he  is,  and  in  hiding.  I  shall  find  out  where  he  is,  and 
then  it  depends  upon  him  whether  he  is  hanged  or  pre- 
fers to  live  abroad  on  a  portion  of  his  money." 

"  The  lesser  portion.  I  know  the  price  of  your 
silence,"  said  Lucy,  vehemently.  "  You  will  want  the 
Hall  and  a  large  income." 

"  All  I  can  get,"  rejoined  Beryl,  quietly.  "  And  you 
have  refused  to  share  my  fortune  with  me." 

"  Yes.  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  you.  And 
remember  that  if  I  catch  you  plotting  I  ^\'ill  tell  Mr. 
Durham." 

"  You  can  tell  him  the  whole  of  this  conversation," 
snarled  Bervl.  "  I  am  not  afraid  of  Durham.  If  Ber- 
nard  is  alive,  he'll  have  to  pay  up  or  be  hanged." 

"  He  is  innocent." 

Julius  shrugged  his  shouldrcs  and  walked  to  the 
door.    There  ho  paused  to  utter  a  final  insulting  speech. 


164  The  Red  Window 


"  I  don't  know  whether  you  intend  to  marry  Bernard 
or  Lord  Conniston,"  he  said,  "  but  I  wish,  which  ever 
it  is,  joy  of  a  spitfire." 

"  And  an  honest  woman,"  said  Miss  Randolph,  wrath- 
fully,  for  the  reference  to  Conniston  touched  her 
nearly;  "  but  you  go  too  fast.  You  can't  yet  prove  that 
Bernard  lives." 

"  I  go  to  do  so,"  sneered  Julius,  and  bowed  himself 
ironically  out  of  the  room,  leaving  Lucy  furious  both 
with  him  and  with  herself. 

She  was  angry  with  herself  because  she  felt  that  in 
speaking  of  Conniston  she  had  colored.  And  as  a  mat- 
ter of  fact  she  greatly  admired  the  young  lord,  even 
though  they  had  only  met  once,  for  Conniston  was  one 
of  those  irresistible  men  who  appeal  to  women.  Lucy 
thought — but  it  matters  little  what  she  thought.  All 
she  knew  was  that  her  engagement  to  Julius,  which  had 
always  weighed  on  her  conscience,  was  at  an  end.  "  I 
am  free  now — free,"  she  said,  stretching  her  hands. 
'*  Oh,  what  an  escape  I  have  had  from  that  wicked  man. 
He  has  shown  his  hand  too  plainly.  I  will  put  Mr. 
Durham  on  his  guard,  and  " — here  she  blushed — "  and 
Lord  Conniston." 

Julius,  walking  towards  the  Bower,  was  also  angry 
with  himself.  As  Lucy  thought,  he  had  shown  his  hand 
too  clearly.  "  It  would  have  been  better,"  he  consid- 
ered, "  to  have  held  my  tongue.  I  should  have  done  so 
had  she  not  goaded  me  into  speech.  She  will  tell  Dur- 
ham and  that  interfering  Conniston  and  put  them  on 
their  guard.  Well " — he  laughed  and  looked  at  the 
small  boy  trotting  beside  him — "  I  am  equal  to  both." 

The  boy  was  a  handsome,  innocent-looking  little  fel- 
low, rather  undersized.     With  his  clear  skin,  his  faii: 


The  New  Page  165 


hair  and  wide  blue  eyes  lie  looked  like  the  conventional 
picture  of  a  cherub.  No  one  would  have  suspected  that 
such  a  childish  creature  was  a  born  criminal.  But  his 
mind  had  not  yet  had  time  to  work  on  his  face,  and  the 
mask  of  his  childhood — for  he  was  only  thirteen — con- 
cealed his  evil  nature  successfully.  In  a  few  years, 
when  his  passions  worked  their  way  through  the  mask, 
his  face,  now  so  smooth  and  innocent,  would  be 
wrinkled  and  sinful.  His  mind  would  have  marked 
plainly  its  signet  on  the  smooth  surface.  But  at  pres- 
ent he  looked  charmingly  innocent,  although  he  already 
knew  much  more  about  life  than  was  good  for  him. 
Julius,  in  order  that  the  lad  might  make  an  impression 
on  Miss  Plantagenet,  had  dressed  him  in  a  new  suit, 
and  pleased  with  himself — for  much  of  the  boy  re- 
mained in  this  precocious  criminal — ^young  Jerry  trot- 
ted along  smiling. 

"  Jerry,"  said  Beryl,  looking  down,  "  mind  you  are 
nice  to  the  old  lady." 

Jerry  tossed  his  fair  curls  and  looked  roguish.  "  Oh, 
that's  all  right,  Mr.  Beryl.  All  old  ladies  take  to  me. 
They  think  I'm  a  kind  of  Holy  Bill,  and  I  let  them 
think  so.     It  pays." 

"  Jerry,  you  are  a  young  scamp  of  the  worst." 

The  boy  chuckled  as  though  he  had  received  a  com- 
pliment. "  I  like  doing  things,"  he  explained  frankly; 
"it's  fun.  When  I  was  \vith  old  grandmother  at  the 
castle  I  hated  doing  nothing.  If  it  hadn't  been  for 
Victoria — the  girl  I  told  you  about — I  should  have  left 
long  before.    I'm  going  to  marry  her." 

"  You  know  nothing  about  such  things,"  corrected 
the  respectable  Mr.  Beryl,  severely. 

"  I  know  a  jolly  sight  more  than  you  think,"  said  the 
urchin  under  his  breath  and  producing  a  cigarette. 


166  The  Red  IVindow 

Julius  took  it  from  him.  "  jMiss  Plantagenet  must 
not  think  you  smoke,  Jerry.     She  is  most  respectable." 

"  And  dull,"  said  Jerry,  putting  his  hands  in  his 
pockets.  "  Lord!  what  a  bore  stopping  with  her  vnVi  be. 
But  I  can  nip  over  and  see  Victoria  when  I  like." 

"  And  keep  an  eye  on  Lord  Conniston  as  I  told  you." 

"  I'm  fly,"  said  Master  Moon,  and  began  whistling. 

Julius  looked  at  him  with  satisfaction.  He  intended 
that  the  boy  should  remain  in  the  nicghborhood  so  as 
to  keep  watch  on  Conniston — whom  since  he  left  the 
army  so  unexpectedly  he  suspected — on  Durham,  and 
on  Alice  Malleson.  For  this  last  reason  he  was  intro- 
ducing him  into  the  house.  If  Bernard  were  alive — as 
Julius  began  to  suspect — he  would  come  to  one  of  these 
three  people,  and  then  Jerry  would  at  once  become 
aware  of  the  fact.  Then  it  would  remain  with  Bernard 
whether  to  be  hanged  or  to  surrender  a  large  portion  of 
the  property  which  Beryl  thought  rightfully  belonged 
to  him.  How  he  came  to  this  conclusion  it  is  difficult 
to  say. 

Miss  Berengaria  was  as  usual  in  the  garden  looking 
after  the  well-being  of  some  white  chrysanthemimis. 
She  raised  her  head  when  she  saw  her  visitors,  and  a 
look  of  annoyance  crossed  her  face  when  she  saw  Mr. 
]>eryl.  Notwithstanding  Durham's  advice,  she  found 
it  difficult  to  keep  her  natural  dislike  of  the  young  man 
in  abeyance,  and  but  for  the  sake  of  Alice  she  would 
have  refused  to  let  him  enter  the  Bower.  As  it  was, 
and  with  great  diplomacy — so  great  that  it  deceived 
even  the  astute  Beryl — she  asked  him  to  come  into 
the  house.  Luckily  Alice  was  out  of  the  way,  ha\4ng 
gone  to  pay  a  visit.  But  she  was  expected  back  mom- 
entarily,  and  Miss  Berengaria  wished  to  get  rid  of 


The  New  Page  167 


Julius  before  the  girl  returned.  She  might  be  able  to 
conceal  her  real  feelings,  but  Alice  being  so  young  and 
impulsive  might  show  her  dislike  too  plainly  and  put 
Beryl  on  his  guard. 

"Who  is  this  you  have  here?"  asked  Miss  Plan- 
tagenet,  putting  on  her  spectacles  and  surveying  Jerry 
•with  admiration.     "  What  a  pretty  lad!  " 

"  He  is  a  lad  I  wish  you  to  help,"  said  Beryl,  blandly. 
"  Last  time  we  met,  Miss  Plantagenet,  you  mentioned 
that  you  wanted  a  page." 

"  Not  exactly  a  page,"  said  the  old  dame,  rubbing 
her  nose,  a  sure  sign  she  was  perplexed.  "  Merely  a 
boy  to  see  after  the  fowls,  and  to  wait  about  the  house 
when  necessary." 

"  I  love  fowls,"  said  Jerry  sweetly,  and  looking  as 
innocent  as  a  babe  ,"  and  dogs  and  things  like  that." 

"  You  seem  a  nice  lad.     Who  is  he,  Mr.  Beryl?  " 

"  A  poor  boy  who  sold  matches  in  London." 

"  But  I  didn't  always,"  piped  Jerry,  shifting  from 
one  leg  to  the  other  in  feigned  embarrassment,  and 
playing  his  part  perfectly.  "  I  lived  with  grandmother 
at  Cove  Castle." 

"  That's  Lord  Conniston's  place,"  said  Miss  Beren- 
garia,  more  perplexed  than  ever.  "  What  were  you 
doing  there? " 

"  I  lived  with  grandmother.  My  name  is  Jerry 
Moon." 

"Oh!  And  how  did  you  come  to  be  selling 
matches?  " 

"  His  lordship  got  me  a  situation  at  a  tobacconist's," 
said  the  child-like  Moon,  "  and  then  he  got  me  turned 
off." 

"  Why?    That  is  not  like  Lord  Conniston," 


1G8  The  Red  Window 

"  You  had  better  not  ask  the  reason,"  interposed 
Julius;  "  it  is  not  to  Lord  Conniston's  credit." 

"  But  I  must  know  the  reason,"  said  the  old  dame, 
sharply,  "  if  jou  want  me  to  take  the  lad  into  my  ser- 
vice." 

Jerry  in  answer  to  a  look  of  Beryl's  began  to  weep 
ostentatiously. 

^'  I  saw  his  lordship  dressed  as  a  soldier,"  he  snuffled, 
"  and  I  told  Mr.  Beryl.  His  lordship  was  so  angry  that 
he  got  me  turned  oif,  saying  I  was  ungrateful." 

"  You  should  always  hold  your  tongue,"  said  ]\Iit;s 
Berengaria,  angrily.  "  You  had  no  right  to  tell  what 
Lord  Conniston  mshed  kept  secret.  It  was  only  a 
freak  on  his  part.     He  left  the  army  at  my  request." 

"At  your  request?"  said  Julius,  looking  at  her  di- 
rectly. 

Forearmed  as  she  was,  Miss  Berengaria,  with  the 
consciousness  of  Bernard's  secret,  flushed  through  her 
withered  skin.  However,  she  did  not  lower  her  eyes 
but  turned  the  conversation  defiantly.  "  Let  us  keep 
to  the  matter  in  hand.  Do  you  want  to  enter  my  ser- 
vice ? " 

"  Yes,  sweet  lady." 

"  Don't  talk  like  that,  child.     Call  me  ma'am." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Jerry,  submissively.  "  Mr. 
Beryl — such  a  kind  gentleman,  ma'am — said  you  would 
help  me." 

"  I  will  so  long  as  you  are  honest." 

Jerry  thrust  his  tongue  in  his  cheek,  but  Julius 
answered,  "  I  can  vouch  for  his  honesty,"  he  said.  "  But 
he  talks  too  much." 

"  He  must  hold  his  tongue  here,"  said  the  old  dame, 
severely,  and  shaking  her  trowel  at  the  boy.  "  Where 
are  his  clothes? " 


The  New  Page  169 


"  I  have  none  but  what's  on/'  cried  Jerry.  "  The 
kind  gentleman  got  them  for  me,  ma'am." 

"  You  are  a  better  Christian  than  I  thought,"  said 
Miss  Berengaria,  looking  at  Beryl.  "  Well,  you  can 
stay  here,  boy.  Go  to  the  kitchen  and  tell  the  servants 
to  give  you  something  to  eat." 

Jerry  grinned,  and  ducked  towards  the  door.  "  Good 
bye,  Jerry,"  said  Beryl,  kindly.    "  Don't  forget  me." 

"If  I  do  may  I  be — oh  no,  kind  lady — ^I  mean, 
ma'am — I  won't  swear.  I  never  did,  having  been  to 
Sunday  school.  Yes,  ma'am,  I'm  going,"  and  Jerry  in 
answer  to  an  imperative  wave  of  his  new  mistress's 
hand  disappeared.     Miss  Berengaria  turned  to  Beryl. 

"  He  certainly  has  a  long  tongue,"  she  said  severely. 
"  I  must  see  that  he  doesn't  swear  or  smoke  or  indulge 
in  any  of  those  wicked  things.  I  hope  he  will  do  your 
recommendation  credit,  Mr.  Beryl." 

"  I  hope  he  will,"  said  Julius,  and  felt  a  strong  in- 
clination to  thrust  his  tongue  in  his  cheek  also.  Then 
he  took  his  leave  and  the  old  lady  watched  hira  go. 

"  What  is  this  for?  "  she  asked  herself,  and  went  in- 
side to  write  a  report  to  Durham. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A   CONSULTATION 

A  week  later  Bernard  was  seated  in  the  sitting 
room  on  the  first  floor  of  the  castle  looking  out  at  the 
landscape.  It  was  picturesque  but  depressing.  The 
sun  had  just  set  behind  dark  clouds,  and  the  red  glare 
behind  them  looked  like  a  fire  in  a  grate.  The  marshes 
were  covered  with  white  mist,  and  the  arm  of  the  sea 
that  reached  up  to  the  castle  walls  resembled  a  stream 
of  blood.  And  over  all  the  veil  of  night  was  falling 
darker  and  darker.  Even  to  a  mind  at  ease  the  prospect 
would  have  been  cheerless,  but  to  Bernard  in  his  present 
low  spirits  it  was  positively  suicidal.  He  felt  more 
miserable  than  he  had  ever  done  in  his  life. 

While  watching  and  waiting,  he  knew  not  for  what, 
the  sound  of  voices  was  heard.  As  he  started  to  his 
feet  with  that  nervousness  which  had  increased  of  late, 
the  door  opened  slowly  and  Mark  Durham  entered  smil- 
ing. Bernard  with  an  ejaculation  of  surprise  hastened 
towards  him  with  outstretched  hands. 

"  My  dear  Mark,  how  unexpected  and  how  jolly. 
I  was  just  dying  to  see  someone.  When  did  you  ar- 
rive? " 

"  This  very  minute,  and  Mrs.  Moon  " — he  turned  to 
the  door  through  which  could  be  seen  the  gigantic  fonn 
of  the  ogress — "  showed  me  up  at  once.  I  have  come 
for  the  night  " — he  raised  his  voice  for  the  benefit  of 
the  housekeeper — "  on  business  connected  with  Lord 
Conniston's  estate." 


A  Consultation  171 


"  Sir,"  said  Mrs.  Moon,  peering  in,  "  don't  tell  me 
as  his  lordship  is  going  to  fight." 

"]^o!  no!  Make  yourself  easy.  He  has  left  the 
army.  Should  he  go  to  the  front  it  will  be  in  a  way 
more  befitting  his  rank." 

"  And  a  relief  it  is  to  hear  that,"  said  Mrs.  Moon, 
placing  a  large  hand  on  her  ample  bosom.  "  When 
Jerry,  who  is  my  grandson,  wrote  me  his  lordship  was 
a  common  soldier,  I  could  have  fainted,  but  what  I 
thought  Victoria  would  bring  me  to  with  hot  water  like 
the  spiteful  imp  of  darkness  she  is." 

"Did  Jerry  write?"  asked  Durham,  making  a  sign 
to  Gore  to  be  silent. 

"  Of  course  he  did,  and  said  as  he  had  been  turned 
out  of  his  employment  for  a — recognizing  of  his  lord- 
ship— a  thing  I  should  never  have  thought  his  lordship 
would  have  done,  seeing  he  got  my  own  flesh  and  blood, 
which  Jerry  is,  the  situation." 

"  It  was  not  for  that  reason,  Mrs.  Moon.  Jerry  told 
a  lie  if  he  wrote  that  to  you." 

"  Printed  or  speaking  lies,  he  tells  plenty,"  moaned 
the  giantess.  "  Oh  dear  me,  so  like  his  poor  dear  father, 
though  I  thumped  him  rarely  when  I  had  the  strength. 
But  what's  my  Jerry,  bad  as  he  is  and  liar  though  ho 
be,  a-doing  of  now?  He  may  be  starving  in  that  nasty 
London,  and  a  rare  child  he  was  for  tit-bits." 

"  I  can  tell  you  where  he  is,  Mrs.  Moon,"  broke  in 
Bernard.  "  I  have  just  heard."  He  glanced  towards 
the  table  wherein  lay  a  letter.  "  He  is  a  page  in  the 
house  of  Miss  Plantagenet  at  Hurseton." 

"  Deary  me,"  said  ]\[rs.  Moon  in  mild  surprise.  "  I 
do  hope  as  he'll  give  satisfaction,  and  pleased  I  am.  I 
must  tell  Victoria,  she  being  taken  up  greatly  with  my 
Jerry,  though  both  of  them  be  but  young." 


172  The  Red  Window 

Diirbam  detained  her.  "No!  Don't  say  a  word  to 
Victoria." 

"  And  why  not,  sir?  " 

"  If  yon  do  Jerry  mil  lose  his  post,"  explained  Dur- 
ham. "  Miss  Plantagenet  has  heard  of  Victoria,  and 
she  doesn't  seem  to  be  a  good  companion  for  Jerry. 
Only  on  condition  that  Victoria  has  nothing  to  do  with 
Jerry  will  the  boy  be  kept  on.  It  is  for  this  reason  he 
has  not  been  over  to  see  you." 

"  And  him  being  so  near  and  denying  his  own  flesh 
and  blood,"  wailed  Mrs.  Moon,  raising  her  large  hands; 
"  but  Jerry  was  always  bad.  Well,  I  don't  want  him 
to  lose  his  place,  so  I'll  hold  my  tongue,  and  right  Miss 
Plantagenet  is,  Victoria  being  a  bad  and  wicked  critter 
as  I'd  take  my  Bible  oath.  If  only  another  girl  would 
stop  here  I'd  give  Victoria  the  walking-ticket.  But, 
bless  you,  the  castle's  that  dismal  and  the " 

Here  Durham  interrupted  impatiently.  "  Go  and 
send  up  some  tea,  Mrs.  Moon,  and  hold  your  tongue 
about  Jerry's  whereabouts.  If  Victoria  learns,  she  may 
go  over,  and  then  Jerry  would  be  dismissed." 

"  To  the  gallows,"  said  the  housekeeper,  closing  the 
door,  "  to  which  he  will  assuredly  go,"  she  added,  open- 
ing it  again,  "  he  taking  after  his  forebears,  who  were 
hanged  for  many  evils.  Tea  did  you  say.  Ah,  well, 
there's  some  comfort  in  tea,"  and  muttering  to  herself 
the  weak  old  creature  left  the  two  gentlemen  to  them- 
selves. 

By  this  time  Bernard  had  returned  to  the  fire  and 
was  pushing  forward  a  chair  for  Durham.  "  I  am 
glad  to  see  you,  Mark,"  said  he,  cordially.  "  But  why 
did  you  stop  me  speaking?  " 

"  I  didn't  stop  you,  worse  luck,"  said  Durham,  run- 


A  Consultation  173 


ning  his  hand  through  his  curly  hair.  "  I  didn't  want 
Mrs.  Moon  to  know  where  Jerry  was.  I  only  hope  she 
will  hold  her  tongue;  but  if  she  does  tell  Victoria,  and 
she  is  weak  enough  to  babble  a  lot,  Jerry  will  learn  in 
a  way  I  need  not  describe  that  you  are  here." 

Bernard  saw  that  he  had  been  foolish  and  bit  his  lip. 
"  I  should  have  been  silent,"  he  said.  "  But  the  fact 
is,  Mark,  I  didn't  think  of  Jerry  being  dangerous. 
Alice  simply  wrote  saying  that  he  had  been  engaged  by 
Miss  Berengaria  as  a  page,  and  that  she  would  give  me 
the  details  when  she  came  to-morrow." 

"  So  like  a  woman,"  grumbled  Durham,  sitting  do^vn. 
''  It  would  have  been  better  had  she  told  you  that  Beryl 
had  induced  Miss  Plantagenet  to  take  the  boy  as  a 
page." 

Bernard  stared.  "  But  she  is  on  my  side,"  he  fal- 
tered. 

"  Of  course  she  is,  and  for  that  reason  she  has  taken 
the  boy.  I  told  her  to  be  civil  to  Beryl,  so  that  I  might 
learn  what  his  game  was.  It  is  better  that  we  should 
keep  all  these  people  in  sight.  I  have  my  eye  on  Beryl, 
who  haunts  my  office.  Jane  Riordan  is  in  my  employ- 
ment. Miss  Kandolph  keeps  watch  on  Mrs.  Gilroy, 
and  Miss  Plantagenet  will  see  that  Jerry — or  Judas  as 
Conniston  calls  him — does  no  mischief.  If  I  can  get 
all  the  threads  into  my  hands,  Bernard,  I'll  soon  be  able 
to  find  a  clue  likely  to  lead  me  to  the  central  mystery 
of  this  labyrinth.  And  there's  no  denying,"  added 
Durham,  wrinkling  his  brows,  "  that  the  case  is  a  per- 
plexing one." 

"  I  understand  about  you  and  Miss  Berengaria,"  said 
Bernard,  nursing  his  chin,  "you  are  my  friends;  but 
Lucy.  I  have  always  had  my  doubts  about  Lucy,  and 
offended  Conniston  by  saying  so.     He  admires  Lucy." 


174  The  Bed  Window 


"  Miss  Randolpli  is  entirely  to  be  trusted,"  said  the 
lawyer,  decisively;  "  she  is  your  friend,  and  has  broken 
off  her  engagement  with  Beryl.  I  think  he  showed  too 
plainly  that  he  wanted  to  ruin  you  and " 

"  Docs  he  know  that  I  am  alive?  "  interrupted  Gore, 
much  perturbed. 

"  No !  But  I  think  he  is  suspicious.  lie  has  some 
rascally  scheme  in  his  head  or  he  would  not  have  placed 
Judas  in  Miss  Berengaria's  establishment;  luckily,  the 
old  lady  will  watch  the  boy.  However,  as  I  was  saying, 
the  engagement  between  Miss  Randolph  and  Beryl  is 
ended.  She  told  me  that  she  had  given  him  back  the 
ring.     She  is  quite  on  our  side." 

"  Conniston  will  be  glad,"  said  Gore,  smiling  in  a 
haggard  sort  of  way;  "  he  admires  Lucy." 

"  So  do  I.  She's  a  charming  girl,  especially  now 
that  she  has  been  allowed  to  exert  her  individuality, 
which  was  crushed  by  Sir  Simon.  I  often  wondered 
you  did  not  fall  in  love  with  her,  Bernard." 

"  Oh,  we  are  like  brother  and  sister,"  said  Bernard, 
quietly,  then  he  sighed  and  started  to  his  feet.  "  See 
here,  Mark,  I  can't  stand  this  sort  of  thing  any  longer." 

"  What  sort  of  thing?  " 

"  This  inaction.  Here  I  am  mouldering  in  this  old 
castle,  a  prey  to  apprehension,  and  letting  other  people 
do  my  work.  "Why  shouldn't  I  come  to  life  and  give 
myself  up? " 

"  You  can  do  that  later,  when  we  know  more  about 
tlie  case  than  we  do  at  present.  Don't  be  rash,  Ber- 
nard." 

Gore  walked  up  and  down  the  room.  "  The  life  A^-ill 
drive  me  mad,"  he  said  impatiently.  "  Thank  Heaven 
Alice  comes  to  see  me  to-morrow." 

"  Why  didn't  she  come  before?  " 


A  Consultation  175 


a 


She  would  have  done  so  had  she  thought  it  safe. 
Alice  is  as  true  as  steel.  But  with  Beryl  about  the 
place — and  he  has  called  several  times  on  Miss  Beren- 
garia — she  thought  it  best  to  postpone  her  visit.  But 
Conniston  asked  them  both  over  to-morrow,  and  they 
are  coming  openly." 

"  So  they  told  me,"  rejoined  Durham,  coolly,  "  and 
I  particularly  impressed  on  them  that  they  were  not  to 
bring  that  imp  over.  If  he  learns  you  are  here — " 
The  lawyer  paused. 

"What  will  he  do?" 

"  Sell  you  to  the  highest  bidder.  I  think  we  can  get 
the  better  of  Beryl  there,  thoug'h.  We  have  the  money 
and  Beryl  hasn't.  Judas  is  in  the  employment  of  Beryl 
so  long  as  it  pays  him.  But  if  I  promise  him  a  good 
sum  he'll  hold  his  tongue  whatever  he  learns.  It's  just 
as  well,  seeing  how  rash  you  were  telling  his  grand- 
mother where  he  is  to  be  found." 

"  I  was  foolish,"  admitted  Gore,  gloomily,  "  but  I 
am  so  worried  that  I  do  foolish  things.  Do  you  think 
there  is  any  chance  of  getting  at  the  truth,  Mark?  " 

"  Here's  the  tea,"  said  Durham,  rising  at  the  sound 
of  a  shuffle  at  the  door.  "  Let  me  have  a  cup,  and  then 
I'll  tell  you  what  I  have  discovered." 

"  Anything  important? "  asked  Gore,  as  the  door 
opened. 

"  Very  important.     I  have  a  clue." 

It  was  Victoria,  sharp  and  dark  and  vixenish  as  ever, 
who  brought  in  the  tray.  But  Durham  had  spoken  in 
low  tones,  so  he  did  not  think  she  had  heard.  Besides, 
he  was  not  so  alarmed  about  her  and  Judas  as  he  had 
been.  Both  were  venal,  and  at  any  cost  their  silence 
would  have  to  be  purchased.     It  would  be  better  for 


176  The  Red  Window 


Bernard  to  lose  half  liis  estate  than  remain  a  fugitive 
from  justice.  Victoria  darted  a  suspicious  glance  at 
Bernard,  as  from  the  air  of  mystery  surrounding  his 
stay  at  the  castle  she  thought  he  was,  as  she  put  it, 
'"'  wanted  for  something."  But  she  was  too  clever,  and, 
truth  to  say,  too  impotent  to  move  without  the  co-opera- 
tion of  Jerry  Moon.  Besides,  beyond  a  mere  suspicion, 
she  had  nothing  to  go  upon.  Queerly  enough,  she  had 
heard  nothing  of  the  murder,  but  then  Mrs.  Moon  kept 
her  so  close  that  Victoria  rarely  had  an  opportunity  of 
indulging  her  gossipping  instincts,  of  which  she  had 
her  full  share. 

When  she  withdrew,  Durham  poured  out  two  cups  of 
tea  and  ate  some  toast.  Gore  waited  patiently  enough, 
but  there  was  a  restless  air  about  him  which  showed 
that  his  patience  was  tried  severely.  At  length  Dur- 
ham satisfied  his  appetite,  took  the  edge  off  it  as  it  were, 
and  then  returned  to  his  seat. 

"  Bernard,"  he  asked,  poking  the  fire,  "  you  never 
told  me  that  Sir  Simon  gave  you  a  check  for  one 
thousand  pounds?" 

Gore  started  up  with  an  exclamation.  "What  do 
you  mean?  I  never  received  such  a  large  check  as  that 
in  all  my  life." 

"  But  your  grandfather  gave  you  one  in  September, 
payable  to  bearer." 

"  No.  He  certainly  did  not.  You  forget  that  we  had 
quarrelled.  From  the  moment  I  left  the  Hall  some 
months  ago  I  never  received  a  penny  from  him.  I 
lived,  as  you  know,  on  what  little  money  I  inherited 
from  my  father.  You  gave  fifty  pounds  to  me  your- 
self." 

"  I  went  to  the  bank,"  said  Durham,  with  an  air  of 


A  Consultation  177 


satisfaction,  "  and  asked  if  such  a  check  had  been  pre- 
sented, and  by  whom?  " 

"  But  how  did  jou  learn  about  this  check?  " 

"  Oh!  I  found  it  amongst  Sir  Sunon's  private  papers 
when  he  died.  It  had  been  honored  and  returned  can- 
celled with  the  bank-book.  I  need  not  have  asked  if  it 
had  been  presented,  as  it  had,  and  had  also  been  paid. 
But  I  wanted  to  examine  the  whole  thing  from  the  be- 
ginning. The  teller — who  knows  you — informed  me 
that  you  presented  the  check  about  the  beginning  of 
October,  and  that  he  paid  you  the  money." 

"  It  is  utterly  false!  "  cried  Gore,  violently. 

"  Keep  your  temper,  old  boy,"  said  Durham,  sooth- 
ingly. "  I  know  that  as  w^ell  as  you  do.  The  man  who 
presented  the  check  was  dressed  as  an  Imperial  Yeo- 
man. He  told  the  teller  he  had  enlisted,  and  the  teller, 
thinking  he  was  you,  wished  him  good  luck." 

"  But,  Mark,"  said  Bernard,  much  perplexed,  "  this 
double  of  mine  must  be  extraordinarily  like  me,  for  the 
teller  knows  me  well." 

"There  is  a  reason  for  the  likeness!  "  The  young 
man  hesitated,  wondering  if  it  would  be  right  to  tell 
his  friend  that  Mrs.  Gilroy  claimed  to  be  the  first  A^fe 
of  Walter  Gore.  On  rapid  reflection,  he  decided  to  say 
nothing  about  the  matter  at  present,  knowing  Bernard's 
violent  temper.  He  therefore  confined  himself  to  bare 
detail.  "  Mrs.  Gilroy  called  at  my  ofiice,"  he  said 
slowly,  "  to  complain  that  the  one  hundred  a  year  left 
to  her  by  Sir  Simon  was  not  enough." 

"  Oh,  confound  Mrs.  Gilroy,"  said  Gore,  impatiently. 
"  I  want  to  know  about  this  check.  This  double  wlio 
presented  it  must  be  the  follow  who  masqueraded  in  the 
kitchen." 


178  The  Red  Windoxv 


"  And  perhaps — who  knows? — may  have  mnrdered 
Sir  Simon." 

"  It's  not  unlikely.  ]\Irs,  Gilroj  said  she  admitted 
someone  like  me — or,  as  she  thought,  me — about  ten, 
and " 

"  We'll  come  to  that  presently.  I  examined  Jane 
Kiordan,  who  was  courted  by  this  fellow  apparently  to 
get  into  the  house.  She  described  you  exactly,  but 
when  I  showed  her  your  likeness  she  noticed  that  the 
mole  on  your  chin  was  absent  from  the  man  who  met 
her." 

Bernard  involuntarily  put  up  his  hand  to  touch  the 
mole,  which  was  rather  conspicuous.  "  The  man  had 
not  this  mark?  "  he  asked. 

*'  No.  So  the  mole  you  used  to  curse  at  school,  Ber- 
nard, may  be  the  means  of  saving  your  life.  Also  I  got 
a  letter  from  the  girl  in  which  this  fellow  makes  an 
appointment.     Here  it  is." 

Gore  examined  the  letter  thrown  to  him  by  Durham. 
"  It's  like  my  writing,  but  it  isn't,"  he  said,  staring. 
"  In  Heaven's  name,  Mark,  what  does  it  all  mean?  " 

"  Conspiracy  on  the  part  of " 

"  Julius  Beryl,"  said  Gore,  breathlessly. 

"  I  am  not  prepared  to  say  that;  but  certainly  on  the 
part  of  Mrs.  Gilroy.  While  I  was  wondering  who  this 
double  who  copied  even  your  handwriting  and  called 
himself  by  your  name  could  be,  Mrs.  Gilroy  called  on 
the  errand  I  told  you  of." 

"Well?     Well?" 

"  Don't  be  impatient,  old  chap.  Well,  she  demanded 
more  money,  and  she  gave  it  as  her  reason  for  claiming 
it  that  your  father — "  Durham  hesitated,  wondering 
how  to  explain. 


A  Consultation  179 


"  Go  on,  please/'  said  Gore.    "  I  am  on  thorns." 

"  Do  you  want  the  truth?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do.     The  whole  truth." 

"  Will  you  promise  to  keep  your  temper?" 

"  Yes.    I  know  I  have  a  bad  one,  but " 

"  Very  good.    Don't  excuse  yourself,  Bernard.  Well, 

Mrs.  Gilroy  claimed  to  be  the  wife  of  your  father, 

and " 

Gore  started  to  his  feet  in  a  paroxysm  of  rage.   "  The 

wife  of  my  father,"  he  repeated.     "  Why,  my  mother 

is  dead." 

"  She  said  your  mother  was  not  the  wife  of " 


"Oh!"  Bernard  sprang  to  his  feet  with  blazing 
eyes.     "Mark!" 

The  lawyer  rose.  "  Keep  your  temper.  I  didn't  in- 
tend to  tell  you,  knomng  how  you  would  receive  the 


news." 


"  Does  this  woman  dare  to  say  that  I  am  a — a " 

"  Bernard,  sit  down,"  said  Durham,  and  literally 
forced  the  impetuous  boy  back  into  his  chair.  "  Be- 
have like  a  civilized  being.  Mrs.  Gilroy  claims  to  be 
your  father's  first  wife." 

"  But  if  she  lives,  and  if  what  she  says  is  true,  my 
mother — I — oh — I  could  kill  this  woman." 

"  Gore,"  said  the  lawyer,  seriously,  "  don't  talk  like 
this;  remember  what  trouble  you  are  now  in  owing  to 
your  former  rash  words." 

"Yes!  Yes!"  Bernard  struck  his  forehead  hard. 
"I  know — I  am  a  fool.  I  didn't  mean — Mark!  " — he 
started  up  despite  the  other's  efforts  to  keep  him  down 
— "  do  you  believe  this?  " 

"  No,"  said  Durham,  promptly,  "  I  don't.  If  Mrs. 
Gilroy  was  the  real  wAie,  she  would  not  have  kept  silent 


180  The  Red  Window 

so  long.  But  I  think  she  was  deceived  by  a  pretended 
marriage,  and  that  Sir  Simon,  knowing  this,  helped  her. 
I  always  wondered  what  was  the  bond  between  them. 
Now  I  know.     Your  father  deceived  the  woman." 

"  But  why  do  you  think  she  had  anything  to  do  with 
my  father  at  all,  Mark?  The  whole  story  may  be 
trumped  up." 

"  I  am  quite  sure  that  her  tale  is  true,  save  as  to  the 
marriage,"  was  Durham's  reply.  "  I  don't  say  that  she 
might  not  have  been  deceived  with  a  pretended  mar- 
riage, and  that  she  thought  all  was  right.  But  she  is 
not  the  real  wife.  Your  mother,  born  Tolomeo  is,  and 
you  are  legitimately  Sir  Bernard  Gore." 

"  But  your  reason  for  thinking  she  speaks  truly?  " 

"I  will  give  one;  a  sufficient  one.  Mrs.  Gilroy  de- 
clared that  her  son,  Michael  Gore — so  she  termed  him 
— was  the  heir.  She  explained  that  there  could  be  no 
deception,  as  he  is  the  image  of  his  father." 

"  Oh  I  "  Bernard  started  to  his  feet,  seeing  light. 
"  And  I  am  the  image  of  my  father,  as  was  always  said. 
This  man  must  be " 

"  He  is.  I  am  sure  of  that.  Michael,  your  half- 
brother,  is  the  man  resembling  you  who  masqueraded 
— probably  at  the  instance  of  his  mother.  I  daresay  he 
saw  Sir  Simon  on  that  night,  and  was  admitted  by  his 
mother.  Probably  he  insisted  that  he  was  the  heir,  and 
Sir  Simon  lost  his  temper.  Then  he  killed  the  old  man, 
and " 

"  And  Mrs.  Gilroy  put  the  crime  on  to  my  shoulders. 
1  see  it  all." 

"  I  don't,"  said  Durham,  dryly.  "  I  wish  I  did.  For 
instance,  I  don't  see  why  you  were  brought  to  Crimea 
Square  in  the  nick  of  time  for  Mrs.  Gilroy  to  accuse 


A  Consultation  181 


you.      I   don't   understand    about    the    Red    Window- 
either!  " 

Gore  walked  up  and  down  the  room  much  agitated. 
"  Mark,"  he  cried  at  last,  "  I  must  come  out  and  face 
this.  I  can't  sit  still  here,  knowing  that  all  this  villainy 
is  about." 

"  You  must,"  insisted  Mark,  firmly.  "  Remember  I 
am  your  lawyer  and  I  will  look  after  your  interests,  to 
say  nothing  of  Conniston,  who  has  remained  in  Eng- 
land for  your  sake.  Wait,  Bernard.  In  good  time  I 
will  bring  you  forward." 

"  But  what  mil  you  do?  " 

"  I  shall  see  Mrs.  Gilroy  and  question  her  again.  She 
declared  that  her  son  was  in  America  when  I  accused 
him  to  her  of  having  killed  Sir  Simon.  Now  Michael 
undoubtedly  presented  this  check  at  the  beginning  of 
October,  The  murder  took  place  at  the  end  of  the 
month,  so  Michael  was  in  England.  When  I  place  this 
fact  before  Mrs.  Gilroy,  she  may  give  in  and  confess." 

"  Confess  what? " 

"  That  you  are  innocent.  Whether  she  will  acknowl- 
edge that  Michael,  her  son,  committed  the  crime  I  can't 
say.  I'll  see  her  to-morrow,  and  I  left  word  with  Miss 
Randolph  to-day  that  I  would.  The  solution  of  the 
mystery  lies  mth  Mrs.  Gilroy." 

"  Where  can  her  son  be  found?  " 

"  That  w^e  must  learn.  I  may  be  able  to  force  her  to 
speak.  When  we  find  Michael  you  can  reappear,  and 
then  the  matter  will  be  threshed  out.  Jane  wall  soon  be 
able  to  distinguish  between  these  Corsican  Brothers. 
Meantime,  remain  quietly  here." 

"I  must!    I  must!     And  yet " 


"  And  yet  you  won't  think  I  am  doing  my  best  for 


you, 


5? 


182  The  Red  Window 


"  I  do — you  know  I  do,  Mark.  But,  after  all,  mj 
position  is  terrible." 

"  Don't  make  it  worse  by  acting  impulsively.  I  shall 
keep  you  advised  of  all  that  goes  on.  AVhen  does  Con- 
niston  return?  " 

"  To-morrow,  with  Alice  and  Miss  Berengaria.  He 
went  over  to-day." 

"  I  saw"  him  there.  I  expect  he  will  stop  the  night. 
"Well,  while  he  is  here  with  Miss  Malleson  and  her  aunt, 
I  shall  see  Mrs.  Gilroy." 

"  But  if  she  refuses  to  speak,"  murmured  Gore, 
anxiously. 

"  I  have  means  to  make  her  speak,"  said  Durham, 
significantly. 


CHAPTER  XIV 


LOVE   IN   EXILE 


Next  day  at  twelve  o'clock  Durham  went  back  to 
Hurseton  to  see  Mrs.  Gilroy.  She  alone  could  relate 
the  true  story  of  the  night.  But  before  he  left  Bernard 
he  related  an  incident  about  which  he  had  forgotten  to 
tell  him  on  the  previous  night. 

"  Did  you  ever  sec  your  Uncle  Guiseppe  Tolomeo?  " 
he  asked. 

"  Several  times,"  replied  Bernard,  wdth  no  very 
pleased  expression.     "  I  assisted  him  with  money." 

"  He  is  the  kind  of  person  who  will  always  have  to 
be  assisted,"  was  the  lawyer's  reply.  "  I  fear  he  is  a 
scamp,  old  fellow." 

"  So  my  grandfather  said.  I  don't  think  he  is  a  good 
man  myself.  All  the  same  he  was  my  mother's  brother, 
and  I  must  assist  him." 

''  He'll  give  you  every  opportunity  to  do  so,"  said 
Durham,  dryly.  "  I  had  a  visit  from  him  the  other 
day?" 

"What  did  he  want?" 

'"  His  errand  was  similar  to  that  of  Mrs.  Gilroy's. 
He  wished  to  know  if  Sir  Simon  had  made  any  provision 
for  him  in  the  will.  I  don't  know  on  what  grounds  he 
based  his  claim,  as  your  grandfather  hated  him.  But 
he  evidently  expected  to  be  remombored.  I  told  him 
he  would  get  nothing,  and  then  with  true  Italian  excita- 
bility he  began  to  lament  tliat  you  had  not  lived,  saying 
you  would  have  helped  him." 


184  The  Red  fVindow 

"  I  shall  certainly  do  that.  lie  is  my  uncle  when  all 
is  said  and  done.     What  is  he  doing?  " 

"  Playing  the  violin  in  some  orchestra.  The  fellow 
is  a  gentleman,  Bernard,  but  a  thorough  scamp.  Since 
he  can  earn  his  own  bread  I  don't  think  it  is  wise  for 
you  to  let  him.  live  on  your  money." 

"  There's  no  chance  at  present  of  my  letting  him  be- 
lieve I  will  allow  that/'  said  Gore,  rather  dolefully. 
"  What  else  did  he  say?  " 

"  Rather  a  strange  thing.  He  said  that  he  told  Sir 
Simon  that  the  Red  Lamp  would  not  bring  you." 

"  The  Red  Window,  you  mean.  My  uncle  knew 
about  that  one  at  the  Hall.  When  my  mother  was 
alive,  and  staying — as  she  did  for  a  time —  with  Sir 
Simon,  she  used  to  put  a  light  in  the  Red  Window  so 
as  to  tell  Tolomeo  that  she  would  meet  him  in  the  gar- 
den on  that  evening.  The  window  is  visible  through 
a  long  avenue,  and  can  easily  be  seen  from  the  road 
which  runs  past  the  grounds.  My  poor  mother  used  it 
as  a  signal  to  her  brother,  as  Lucy  used  it  as  a  signal  to 
me.  And  I  believe  that  in  days  gone  by — in  Charles 
the  First's  days — it  was  used  in  a  like  manner  to  warn 
loyal  cavaliers." 

"  Tolomeo  did  not  say  the  Red  Window,"  replied 
Durham,  wrinkling  his  brows,  "  but  the  Red  Lamp, 
which  makes  me  think  he  must  have  been  with  Sir 
Simon  on  that  fatal  evening." 

Bernard  looked  up  alertly,  and  his  brow  grew  dark. 
"  How  do  you  make  that  out?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Durham,  after  a  pause,  "  I  questioned 
Jane  Riordan  again  about  the  possibility  of  there  hav- 
ing been  a  red  light  visible!  " 

"  There  was,"  interrupted  Gore,  decisively.  "  I  ea,n 
it  myself." 


Love  in  Exile  185 


"  And  Mrs.  "Webber  saw  it,  although  afterwards  it 
disappeared.  Well,  Jane  told  me  that  there  was  a  lamp 
on  the  table  in  front  of  the  window.  She  saw  it  when 
she  went  up  with  the  cook  and  Miss  Randolph." 

"  I  remember.  I  was  in  the  grip  of  the  policeman 
then,"  said  Gore. 

"  Well,  it  is  strange,  seeing  that  the  apartment  was 
lighted  by  electricity,  that  a  lamp  should  have  stood  in 
front  of  the  window." 

"  What  do  you  infer? "  asked  Bernard,  doubtfully 
and  uneasily. 

"  This  much.  Your  cousin  told  Sir  Simon  about  the 
use  she  made  of  the  Red  Window — ^.your  cousin  Miss 
Randolph,  I  mean — and  when  she  was  at  the  Curtain 
Theatre  with  Beryl,  I  believe  he  put  the  lamp  in  the 
window  to  attract  you." 

"  Had  the  lamp  a  red  glass?  " 

"  No.  But  a  red  bandana  handkerchief  such  as  Sir 
Simon  used  might  have  been  stretched  across  the 
window.     I  daresay  he  did  it." 

"  But  he  didn't  know  that  I  knew  the  house,"  ob- 
jected Gore. 

"  True  enough,  unless  " — here  Durham  hesitated — 
"  unless  it  was  your  grandfather  who  sent  Jerry  Moon 
to  lure  you  to  the  square." 

"No!  Judas — as  Conniston  calls  him — is  Beryl's 
tool.  I  would  rather  believe  that  Beryl  placed  the  red 
handkerchief  across  the  window." 

"  There  was  no  handkerchief  found,"  said  Durham. 
'•'  Mrs.  Webber  saw  the  red  light,  yet  when  Beryl  went 
out  to  look  for  it  he  could  see  none,  neither  could  she. 
What  do  you  infer  from  that,  Bernard?  " 

"  That  the  handkerchief  nmst  have  been  removed  in 


186  The  Red  Window 

the  meanwhile  bj  Berjl.  No,"  Bernard  recollected, 
"not  by  Beryl;  Mrs.  Gilroy  prevented  him  going  up 
the  stairs.  But  Lucy,  the  cook  and  Jane  Riordan  went 
up; — one  of  them  must  have  removed  the  handkerchief. 
I  tell  you  what,  Mark,"  added  Bernard,  thoughtfully, 
"  it  was  Lucy  who  placed  the  lamp  by  the  window  and 
stretched  the  handkerchief  across  it." 

"  We  don't  know  that  a  handkerchief  was  so 
stretched,"  said  Durham. 

"  It  must  have  been  to  cause  the  red  light,"  insisted 
Gore.  "  Lucy  always  had  the  idea  of  the  Red  Window. 
She  was  then  friendly  with  Beryl,  and  she  might  have 
made  use  of  Jerry  Moon  to  bring  me  to  the  square  in 
the  hope  that,  seeing  the  red  light,  I  might  venture  into 
the  house  and  interview  my  grandfather." 

"  Well,"  said  Durham,  rising,  "  we  will  ask  Miss 
Randolph.  Also  we  can  question  this  young  Judas,  who 
is  now  wdth  Miss  Plantagenet." 

Bernard  did  not  answer.  With  his  head  on  his  hand 
he  was  pondering  deeply.  "  One  thing  I  can't  under- 
stand," he  said,  after  a  pause:  "Why  do  you  connect 
my  Uncle  Guiseppe  with  the  Red  Window?  " 

"  I  don't,  but  with  the  Red  Lamp.  In  this  especial 
instance,  for  lack  of  red  glass  a  lamp  was  used.  It  was 
not  the  ordinary  lighting  of  the  room,  remember.  ISTow, 
Tolomeo  must  have  been  in  the  room,  and  he  must  have 
seen  the  lamp  to  make  use  of  such  an  expression." 

"  So  you  believe  he  was  with  Sir  Simon  when  Lucy 
and  Beryl  were  at  the  theatre?  " 

"'  Yes,"  said  Durham,  looking  directly  at  Gore,  "  and 
Tolomeo  is  Italian." 

Bernard  jumped  up  nervously.  "  Do  you  mean  to 
hint  that  Tolomeo  may  have  strangled  my  grand- 
father?'* 


Love  in  Exile  187 


"  Yes,  I  do.  Tolomco  may  have  come  to  see  him — 
indeed,  he  must  have  done  so  to  make  use  of  such  an 
expression  as  the  '  Red  Lamp.'  The  two  quarrelled,  and 
perhaps  your  uncle,  losing  his  temper " 

"  ISTo,  no!  I  can't  believe  that,"  said  Gore,  walking 
anxiously  to  and  fro.  "  Tolomeo  is  wild  but  not 
wicked." 

"  That  depends  on  what  you  call  wicked,"  said  Dur- 
ham, dryly,  and  preparing  to  take  his  leave.  "  How- 
ever, we  can  leave  this  clue,  if  clue  it  is,  alone  at  pres- 
ent. What  I  have  to  do  is  to  question  Mrs.  Gilroy 
about  her  son.  Also  I  may  see  Miss  Randolph  and 
Jerry  Moon.  But  of  one  thing  I  am  certain,  Bernard: 
your  grandfather  had  several  visitors  during  that  eve- 
ning. Your  half-brother  Michael  came,  also  your 
uncle.    One  of  the  two " 

"  No!  I  would  rather  believe  Mrs.  Gilroy  strangled 
the  old  man  herself." 

"  She  is  quite  capable  of  doing  so,"  said  Dui'ham, 
coolly,  "  but  I  do  not  think  she  did.  His  death  was  un- 
fortunate for  her  schemes;  he  was  of  more  value  to  her 
alive  than  dead.  But  it  might  be  that  Michael  killed 
Sir  Simon,  and  that  Mrs.  Gilroy  is  using  you  as  a  scape- 
goat.   However,  I  learn  the  truth  from  her  to-day." 

"  If  that  theorv  is  correct,  Tolomeo " 

"  Is  innocent,  quite  so.  We'll  give  him  the  benefit 
of  the  doubt.  But  I  want  to  know  what  he  was  doing 
with  Sir  Simon  on  that  evening.  He  may  be  able  to 
tell  us  something  if  he  is  innocent  himself." 

Gore  shuddered.  "  It  is  a  most  involved  case,"  he 
said  hopelessly. 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you.  We  liave  a  long  dark  road 
to  travel  before  we  come  to  the  light.     However  " — 


188  The  Red  JVindow 

Durham  clapped  Bernard  on  the  back — "  keep  up  your 
spirits.  If  time,  and  money,  and  friendship  can  put 
you  right,  Conniston  and  I  will  see  the  thing  through. 
Meantime,  as  Miss  Malleson  is  coming  here  this  day, 
make  yourself  happy  and  don't  worry." 

"  You  might  as  well  put  the  kettle  on  the  fire  and 
say  don't  boil." 

Durham  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  said  no  more. 
What  with  his  isolation  and  anxiety,  Bernard  was  grow- 
ing morbid,  and  his  only  cure  lay  in  the  truth  being  dis- 
covered. Therefore  Durham  set  out  to  discover  it  from 
Mrs.  Gilroy,  and  left  the  young  man  to  his  by  no  means 
pleasant  meditations. 

The  day  was  fine  and  cold,  ^vith  much  sunshine  and 
no  mist.  Bernard  went  out  for  a  walk  on  the  small  spot 
of  dry  ground  on  which  the  castle  is  built.  Victoria 
privately  complained  to  him  that  she  had  all  the  work 
to  do.  Since  Mrs.  Moon  had  learned  "  Kings  "  she 
would  do  nothing  but  play  the  game.  Bernard  laughed, 
and  saw  the  housekeeper,  telling  her  again  of  the  ex- 
pected arrival  of  the  two  ladies. 

"  You  had  better  get  a  good  luncheon  ready,"  he 
said. 

"  I'll  try,"  sighed  the  giantess;  "  but  that  game  lies 
heavy  on  my  conscience.  I'm  bound  to  do  it  at  least 
once,  Mr.  Grant."  She  gave  Gore  his  false  name  in  all 
innocence.  "  I  do  wish,  sir,  you  hadn't  taught  me  the 
game." 

"  Never  mind,  you'll  do  it  some  day,"  said  Bernard, 
kindly. 

Mrs.  Moon  moaned  and  groaned  and  went  to  prepare 
luncheon,  her  head  full  of  the  fatal  game,  which  had 
seized  ou  her  rather  sluggish  imagination  so  strongly 


Love  in  Eocile  189 


as  to  exclude  all  other  thoughts.  Bernard  went  out- 
side and  walked  along  the  causeway  which  connected 
the  castle  with  the  main  road.  He  wished  to  welcome 
Miss  Plantagenet  and  Alice  before  the  two  women  could 
see  them,  as  it  was  necessary  to  inform  them  that  his 
name  for  the  time  being  was  Grant.  Certainly  Connis- 
ton  might  have  informed  them  of  this  fact;  but  the 
young  lord  was  so  feather-headed  that  Bernard  did  not 
always  trust  to  his  discretion. 

Presently  an  open  carriage  came  in  sight  driven  by 
Miss  Berengaria's  fat  coachman.  Gore  heaved  a  sigh 
of  relief  when  he  saw  that  they  had  not  brought  the 
dangerous  Jerry  with  them.  Evidently  Conniston  had 
remembered  that  part  of  his  instructions. 

"  Dear  Alice,"  he  said,  hurrying  forward  to  meet 
the  carriage  as  it  turned  down  the  causeway.  And  he 
waved  his  hat,  in  return  for  which  token  of  greeting 
Alice  waved  her  hand. 

But  when  the  lovers  met,  their  hearts  were  too  full 
to  speak.  They  simply  took  one  another's  hands  and 
looked  into  one  another's  eyes.  Miss  Berengaria,  alight- 
ing at  the  same  time,  ordered  the  carriage  to  drive  to 
the  castle  door,  and  turned  to  salute  the  exile.  "  Well, 
young  man,"  she  said  in  her  bluff  way,  "  a  nice  mess 
you  have  got  yourself  into." 

"  Oh  no,  aunt,"  protested  Alice;  "  it  is  not  Bernard's 
fault." 

Miss  Berengaria  rubbed  her  nose.  "  Well,  I  don't 
know,"  she  observed  tartly.  "  Bernard  Gore  always 
had  a  talent  for  getting  himself  into  scrapes." 

"  I  hope  Mr.  Grant  is  more  cautious,"  said  Gore, 
leading  the  way  to  the  door  with  a  smile. 

"  And  who  is  Mr.  Grant?  "  asked  Alice,  puzzled. 


190  The  Red  Ji^ndow 

'"  1  am.  I  have  to  take  a  false  name  because  of  the 
servant,  Victoria.  She  is  so  sharp  that  she  might  write 
and  tell  Jndas  I  am  here." 

"Jiidas!"  echoed  ]\riss  Berengaria,  who,  with  her 
dress  kilted  up,  was  picking  her  way  amidst  the  puddles. 
"  Oh,  that  brat  who  says  he  loves  fowls  and  harries  mine 
beyond  endurance.  I  assure  you,  Bernard,  the  wretch 
has  spoilt  the  nerves  of  the  whole  poultry  yard.  I'd 
give  him  his  walking-ticket  if  it  were  not  for  you.  But 
I'm  bound  to  keep  an  eye  on  him,  according  to  Durham. 
And  a  nice  lawyer  he  is,  with  his  finiking  ways,"  fin- 
ished the  old  lady  grimly. 

"  There  is  no  danger  of  Jerry  getting  any  letter," 
said  Alice,  as  they  entered  the  castle.  "  Aunt  looks 
over  all  the  correspondence.  Jerry  is  behaving  himself 
nicely." 

"  Except  that  he's  always  in  places  he  shouldn't  be," 
said  Miss  Berengaria.  "  Deuce  take  the  boy,  I  don't 
know  what  he  is  after." 

"  He  is  on  the  watch  for  the  arrival  of  Bernard,"  said 
Alice,  quietly.  "  It  is  for  that  reason,  I  am  sure,  that 
Julius  asked  you  to  take  him." 

"Bah!  Beryl!"  Miss  Berengaria  never  was  re- 
spectful to  anyone,  much  less  to  Julius,  whom  she 
hated.     "  Beryl  doesn't  know  Gore  is  alive." 

"  Yes,  lie  does,"  began  Alice,  then  checked  herself. 
"  I'll  tell  you  later,  my  dear,"  she  added  in  a  lower  tone 
to  Bernard.  "  I  have  much  to  say  I  don't  want  my  aunt 
to  overhear." 

But  that  lady  was  too  much  occupied  with  iMrs.  Moon 
to  listen. 

"  Well,  Moon,  how  are  you?  "  she  said  grimly,  sur- 
ve^ying  the  giantess.  "  No  younger,  I  see,  and  not  in 
good  health,  I  should  say." 


Love  in  Exile  191 


"  What  can  you  expect  from  damp  marshes,  my 
lady?"  whimpered  Mrs.  Moon,  who,  for  some  unex- 
plained reason,  gave  Miss  Berengaria  this  title. 

"  Rheumatism  and  ague,"  said  the  old  dame 
promptly.  "  And  you  look  as  though  you  were  getting 
ready  for  a  fever." 

"  Oh,  my  lady!  " 

"  Oh,  fiddlesticks!  "  said  Miss  Berengaria,  stalking 
into  the  castle.  "  Have  you  a  good  meal  ready?  If  you 
have,  send  it  up.  I'm  as  hungry  as  a  mosquito  after  my 
drive." 

"  Victoria  is  laying  the  table,  my  lady." 

"  Who  is  she?  Oh  yes.  The  brat  of  a  girl  that 
urchin  of  mine  talks  about.  He  wants  to  come  over 
and  see  her,  but  I  won't  let  him." 

"  Why  not,  my  lady?  I  should  like  to  see  my  own 
flesh  and  blood." 

"  Well,  then,  you  won't,"  snapped  Miss  Berengaria. 
"  And  don't  you  tell  Victoria  the  boy  is  with  me,  or  I'll 
discharge  him." 

"  So  Mr.  Grant  said,  my  lady.  He  having  told  me 
as  Jerry  was  page  to  your  ladyship." 

"Hum!  It's  none  of  Mr.  Grant's  business.  I  can 
manage  my  own  affairs  without  his  assistance.  Come 
along  and  show  me  to  a  room  where  I  can  put  my  hair 
tidy;  it's  blown  about  by  the  wind.  And  see  that  the 
coachman  feeds  the  horses.     He's  a  fool." 

"  I'll  see  to  it,  my  lady.    And  Victoria ?  " 

"  Hold  your  tongue  about  Victoria." 

"  I  will,  my  lady.  Come  this  way,  my  lady,"  and 
Mrs.  Moon  plunged  along  the  corridor  with  little  ]\Iiss 
Berengaria  trotting  briskly  at  her  heels.  She  looked 
like  a  cock-boat  following  in  the  wake  of  a  three-decker. 
And  all  the  time  she  scolded  the  meek  giantess. 


192  The  Red  Windoiv 

While  Mrs.  Moon  was  thus  suffering,  the  lovers  were 
talking  eagerly  in  the  sitting-room,  where  the  table  was 
already  laid  for  luncheon.  Victoria  had  departed,  so 
they  had  the  apartment  to  themselves,  and  for  the 
moment,  in  spite  of  the  depressing  surrounding  circum- 
stances, they  were  absolutely  happy. 

"  Dearest,"  said  Bernard,  taking  the  girl's  hand,  "  I 
have  hungered  for  this  moment.  Alice,  you  are  more 
beautiful  than  ever." 

"Darling!  But,  Bernard,  I  have  a  confession  to 
make.  I  really  thought  for  a  moment  that  you  were 
guilty.'' 

"  Alice,  how  could  you?  " 

Her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "  I  was  mad  to  doubt  you, 
dearest,  but  I  did.  I  thought  you  might  have  lost  your 
temper  with " 

"  Ah !  "  groaned  Gore,  "  my  terrible  temper.  But 
when  did  you  come  to  think  me  innocent,  Alice?  " 

"  Almost  immediately.  My  aunt  laughed  at  the  idea 
that  you  had  killed  Sir  Simon.  She  always  stood  up  for 
you,  and  scolded  me." 

"  I  think  you  deserved  it,"  said  Gore,  playfully. 
"  However,  I  forgive  you.  The  evidence  against  me  is 
so  strong  that  I  don't  wonder  you  believed  I  was " 

"  No,  Bernard,  no.  You  loved  me,  and  in  the  face  of 
everything  I  should  never  have  credited  you  with  the 
commission  of  this  crime.  But  you  forgive  me,  don't 
you,  dear? "  she  added,  nestling  to  his  heart. 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  replied  Gore,  and  sealed  his  for- 
giveness with  a  kiss.  "  So  long  as  you  believe  me  to  be 
innocent  now." 

"  I  do — I  do.  I  wonder  that  I  could  have  doubted 
you.     Lord  Conniston  never  doubted  you,  nor  did  Mr. 


Love  in  Exile  193 


Durham,  nor  my  aunt.  It  was  only  I  who — oh  dear 
me!  how  wicked  of  me." 

"  Alice  " — he  kissed  away  her  tears — "  say  no  more. 
The  circumstances  were  enough  to  shake  your  faith  in 
me,  especially  when  you  knew  I  had  such  a  bad  temper. 
And  I  have  it  still,"  sighed  Gore,  sadly;  "  even  now  in 
spite  of  all  my  trouble  I  am  impatient." 

"Wait,  wait!    All  will  be  well." 

"  I  can't  see  how  I  am  to  win  free  of  the  trouble, 
Alice  dear." 

"  None  of  us  can  see,  Bernard.  But  we  are  in  God's 
hands.  He  will  help  us.  See,  He  has  given  you  a 
refuge  here  till  your  innocence  is  proved." 

"  And  how  long  will  I  keep  this  refuge? "  said  Gore, 
gloomily.  "  If  that  young  imp  Judas  learns  from  Vic- 
toria that  I  am  here " 

"  Then  you  can  escape  to  another  place.  But,  Ber- 
nard, I  have  something  to  tell  you."  Alice  looked 
round  and  took  a  letter  out  of  her  pocket  cautiously. 
"  This  is  from  Julius.  He  says  that  he  saw  you  in 
London." 

"Ah!"  Bernard  read  the  letter  hurriedly.  "My 
double — my  half-brother,  Michael." 

"  Your  half-brother!    I  never  knew  you  had  one." 

"  Nor  did  I,  till  Durham  found  it  out  from  Mrs. 
Gilroy." 

The  next  ten  minutes  was  taken  up  by  Bernard  in 
explaining  what  the  lawyer  had  learned  from  ;^[rs. 
Gilroy.  Alice  was  extremely  astonished  and  inter- 
ested, and  quite  agreed  that  it  was  possible  the  half- 
brother  might  be  the  guilty  person.  "  And  it  explains 
Mrs.  Gilroy's  accusation  of  you,"  said  Alice,  thought- 
fully. 


194  The  Bed  Windoxv 

"  Without  doubt.  Mrs.  Gilroj  never  liked  me.  But 
do  you  believe  JMichael  is  the  real  heir?  " 

"  No,"  said  Alice,  firmly.  "  Mrs.  Gilroy  would  have 
claimed  the  money  and  the  title  for  her  son  had  there 
been  a  true  marriage.  There  is  something  wrong,  Ber- 
nard. I  don't  know  what  it  is,  but  I  feel  sure  that  Mrs. 
Gilroy  is  not  so  secure  about  her  position  as  she  pre- 
tends to  be." 

"  Well,"  said  Bernard,  putting  the  letter  into  his 
pocket,  "  Durham  will  tell  us  what  she  says." 

Then  occurred  one  of  those  coincidences  which  occur 
in  real  life  quite  as  often  as  they  do  in  novels.  Dur- 
ham suddenly  entered  the  room,  looking  disturbed.  lie 
saluted  Alice,  then  turned  to  his  client — "  Mrs.  Gil- 
roy! "  he  exclaimed. 

"  What  of  her?  "  asked  Gore.   "  Has  she  confessed?  " 

"  She  has  left  the  Hall,  and  no  one  knows  where  she 
is!" 


CHAPTEE  XV 

THE    PAST   OF   ALICE 

The  lovers  stared  at  Durham  when  he  made  this 
startling  announcement,  for  startling  it  was,  considering 
how  necessary  Mrs.  Gilroy's  evidence  was  to  procure 
the  freedom  of  Gore.  He  sat  down  wiping  his  face — 
for  he  had  ridden  over  post-haste — and  looked  exces- 
sively chagrined. 

"When  did  she  go?"  asked  Bernard,  who  was  the 
first  to  find  his  voice. 

"  Goodness  knows,"  replied  the  lawyer  in  vexed 
tones.  "  She  left  early  this  morning  without  saying  she 
was  going.  Miss  Randolph  heard  the  news  at  break- 
fast. One  of  the  grooms  stated  that  he  had  seen  Mrs. 
Gilroy  driving  in  a  farmer's  trap  to  the  station  at  Post- 
leigh,  about  seven  o'clock." 

"  Perhaps  she  will  come  back." 

"ISTo!  She  has  taken  her  box  with  her.  She  had 
only  one,  I  believe.  I  daresay  she  has  taken  fright  over 
what  she  let  out  to  me  the  other  day  about  that  precious 
son  of  hers  " — here  Durham  remembered  that,  so  far  as 
he  knew,  Alice  was  ignorant  of  Michael  Gore's  exist- 
ence.    She  interpreted  the  look. 

"  You  can  speak  freely,  Mr.  Durham,"  she  said. 
"  Bernard  has  just  told  me  all  about  the  matter." 

"  Good,"  said  the  solicitor,  evidently  relieved,  as  it 
did  not  necessitate  his  entering  into  a  long  explanation, 
of  which  he  was  rather  impatient.  "  Then  you  know 
that  Bernard  and  I  suspect  Michael  Gore " 


196  The  Bed  IJ^uidow 

"  He  has  no  right  to  that  name,"  said  Bernard,  per- 
emptorily. 

"  Well,  then,  Michael  Gilroj,  though  for  all  we  know 
his  mother  may  not  have  a  right  to  that  name  either. 
But  to  come  to  the  point.  This  disappearance  of  the 
w^oman  makes  me  more  certain  than  ever  that  she  alone 
can  tell  the  story  of  that  night." 

"  And  she  won't  tell  it  if  it  incriminates  her  son," 
said  Alice. 

"  ]S[o,  that's  certain.    I  made  inquiries " 

"  You  must  have  been  quick  about  it,"  observed  Gore, 
glancing  at  his  watch.     "  It  is  barely  three  o'clock." 

"  I  went  at  once  to  make  inquiries,"  said  Durham. 
"  Mrs.  Gilroy  ordered  the  trap  overnight  and  had  her 
box  removed^  though  how  she  managed  it  without  the 
servants  at  the  Hall  knowing,  I  am  not  prepared  to  say. 
But  she  did,  and  went  to  the  Postleigh  station.  There 
she  took  a  ticket  to  London.  She  is  lost  there  now  " — 
here  Durham  made  a  gesture  of  despair — ''  and  good- 
ness knows  when  we  will  set  eyes  on  her  again." 

"  I  can  tell  you  that,"  put  in  Alice,  briskly,  and  both 
men  looked  inquiringly  at  her.  "  She  will  reappear 
when  she  is  able  to  establish  the  fact  that  Michael  is 
the  heir." 

"  Which  means  that  she  must  prove  her  own  mar- 
riage, if  there  was  any — begging  your  pardon,  IMiss 
Malleson — to  have  taken  place  prior  to  that  of  Walter 
Gore  with  Signora  Tolomco." 

"  My  uncle  will  be  able  to  prove  that." 

"  I'll  see  him  about  it,  as  there  is  some  difficulty  in 
knowing  where  your  parents  were  married,  Bernard. 
Your  father  kept  the  marriage  a  secret  from  you  grand- 
father.    Afterwards,  Sir  Simon  received  your  mother 


The  Past  of  Alice  197 

at  the  Hall,  and  was  fairly  friendly  with  her.  I  don't 
think  he  ever  became  quite  reconciled  to  your  father." 

"Well!  well!  "  said  Bernard,  hastily,  "let  us  leave 
that  point  alone  for  the  present.  What  are  we  to  do 
aow? " 

"  We  must  have  a  counsel  of  war.  By  the  way,  Con- 
niston  is  stopping  at  the  Hall  till  this  evening,  Bernard. 
He  will  be  back  at  dinner," 

Alice  smiled.  "  I  think  Lord  Conniston  is  enjoying 
himself." 

"  You  mean  with  Miss  Randolph,"  said  Durham.  "  T 
devoutly  wish  he  may  take  a  fancy  to  that  lady " 

"  I  think  he  has,"  put  in  Bernard,  smiling  also. 

"  All  the  better.  If  he  makes  her  Lady  Conniston, 
it  will  be  a  good  day's  work.  Only  marriage  will  tame 
Conniston.  I  have  had  no  end  of  trouble  with  him.  He 
is  a  trial." 

"  Oh,  Lucy  is  a  clever  girl,  and  can  giiide  him  if  she 
becomes  his  wife,  Mr.  Durham.  And  now  that  her  en- 
gagement is  broken  with  Mr.  Beryl,  I  daresay  it  will 
come  off — the  marriage  I  mean.  She  seems  to  be  at- 
tracted by  Lord  Conniston." 

"  And  small  wonder,"  said  Miss  Berengaria,  entering 
at  this  moment.  "  I  really  think  Conniston  is  a  nice 
fellow — much  better  than  Bernard,  here." 

"  I  won't  hear  that,  aunt,"  said  Alice,  indignantly. 

"  My  dear,  I  always  speak  my  mind.  How  are  you, 
Durham? "  added  the  old  lady,  turning  on  the  dapper 
solicitor.     "  You  look  worried." 

"  Mrs.  Gilroy  has  bolted." 

Miss  Berengaria  rubbed  her  nose.  "  The  deuce  take 
the  woman !  Why  has  she  done  that  ?  I  always  thought 
she  was  a  bad  lot." 


198  The  Red  Window 


"  Do  you  know  anything  about  her,  aunt?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do,  and  much  more  than  she  likes.  She's  a 
gipsy." 

"  I  thought  she  was,"  said  Durham,  remembering  the 
Romany  dialect  used  by  the  housekeeper,  "  but  she 
doesn't  look  like  a  gipsy." 

"  Well,"  said  Miss  Berengaria,  rubbing  her  nose 
again  and  taking  a  scat,  "  she's  not  a  real  gipsy,  but  I 
believe  some  tribe  in  the  New  Forest — the  Lovels,  I 
understand — picked  her  up,  and  looked  after  her.  All 
I  know  of  her  dates  from  the  time  she  came  to  Hurseton 
with  the  gipsies.  She  was  then  a  comely  young  woman, 
and  I  believe  Walter  Gore  admired  her." 

"  My  father,"  said  Bernard,  coloring. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear,"  said  the  old  lady. 
''  I  can't  say  good  of  your  father,  and  I  won't  say  bad, 
so  let  me  hold  my  tongue," 

"  No,"  said  Durham,  rather  to  the  surprise  of  the 
others.  "  Now  you  have  said  so  much.  Miss  Planta- 
genet,  you  must  say  all." 

"  All  what?  "  demanded  the  old  lady,  aggressively. 

"  Well,  you  see,  Mrs.  Gilroy  claims  to  have  married 
Walter  Gore." 

'"  Then  she's  a  liar,"  said  Miss  Berengaria,  emphat- 
ically and  vulgarly.  "  Why,  Walter  was  married  to 
your  mother,  Bernard,  at  that  time." 

"  Are  you  sure?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

"  Of  course  I  am.  I  don't  make  any  statements  un- 
less I  am  sure.  It  was  after  the  marriag-c ;  for  Sir  Simon 
— I  was  friends  with  him  then — consulted  me  about 
your  father  having  married  the  Italian  woman — beg- 
ging your  pardon  again,  Bernard.  I  then  learned  the 
date  of  the  marriage  and  it  was  quite  three  years  after- 


The  Past  of  Alice  199 

wards  that  Walter  saw  Mrs.  Gilroy.  I  don't  know  what 
she  called  herself  then.  But  she  disappeared,  and  I 
understand  from  Sir  Simon  she  married  Walter  under 
the  impression  he  was  a  single  man — drat  the  profli- 
gate! "  added  Miss  Berengaria. 

"  Then  the  son " 

"Son!"  echoed  the  old  lady,  turning  to  Durham, 
who  had  spoken.  "  You  don't  mean  to  say  there  is  a 
son? " 

"  Yes."  And  Durham,  thinking  it  best  to  be  explicit, 
gave  a  detailed  account  of  Mrs.  Gilroy's  interview. 
Miss  Berengaria  listened  with  great  attention,  and  gave 
her  verdict  promptly. 

"  It's  as  plain  as  the  nose  on  my  face,"  she  said. 
"  Mrs.  Gilroy  was  really  married  as  she  thought,  but 
when  she  came  to  see  Sir  Simon — and  that  was  after 
the  death  of  both  of  your  parents,  my  dear,"  she  inter- 
polated, turning  to  Gore,  "  she  must  have  learned  the 
truth.  I  think  the  old  rascal — no,  I  won't  speak  evil  of 
the  dead — but  the  good  old  man  " — her  hearers  smiled 
at  this — "  the  good  old  saint  was  sorry  for  her.  He 
made  her  the  housekeeper  and  promised  to  provide  for 
her  after  his  death." 

"  Five  hundred  a  year,  she  says,"  put  in  Durham. 

"Ah!  I  can't  conceive  Simon  Gore  parting  with 
money  to  that  extent,"  said  Miss  Berengaria,  dryly, 
"  especially  to  one  who  had  no  claim  upon  him  whatso- 
ever." 

"  You  don't  think  she  had." 

"  Deuce  take  the  man!  Don't  I  say  so?  Of  course 
she  hadn't.  Walter  Gore  deceived  her — begging  your 
pardon  for  the  third  time,  Bernard — but  Sir  Simon 
acted  very  well  by  her.    I  will  say  that.     As  to  there 


200  The  Red  Window 


being  a  son,  I  never  heard.    But  if  this — what  do  you 
call  him  ?  " 

"  ]\ricliael  Gilroy." 

"  Well,  if  Michael  Gilroy  is  the  image  of  Bernard, 
M'ho  is  the  image  of  his  father  in  looks,  though  I  hope 
not  in  conduct,  there  is  no  doubt  that  he  was  the  man 
admitted  by  Mrs.  Gilroy,  who  killed  Sir  Simon.  Of 
course,  she  will  fight  tooth  and  nail  for  her  son.  I 
daresay — ^I  am  convinced  that  it  is  fear  of  \vhat  she  said 
to  you,  Mr.  Durham,  that  has  made  her  go  away.  And 
a  good  riddance  of  bad  rubbish,  say  I,"  concluded  the 
old  spinster,  vigorously,  "  and  for  goodness'  sake, 
where's  the  luncheon?    I'm  starving." 

This  speech  provoked  a  laugh,  and  as  everyone's 
nerves  were  rather  worn  by  the  position  of  affairs,  it 
was  decided  to  banish  all  further  discussion  until  the 
meal  was  over.  Miss  Berengaria  without  being  told 
took  the  head  of  the  table.  "  I  represent  the  family  in 
the  absence  of  that  silly  young  donkey,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Berengaria,"  said  Bernard,  smiling,  "  if 
you  call  Conniston  that,  what  do  you  call  me?  " 

"  A  foolish  boy,  who  lost  his  head  when  he  should 
have  kept  it." 

"  I  lost  my  heart,  at  all  ev^ents!  " 

Alice  laughed,  and  they  had  a  very  pleasant  meal. 
Miss  Berengaria  was  really  fond  of  Gore  and  of  Connis- 
ton also,  but  she  liked  to — as  she  put  it — take  them 
down  a  peg  or  two.  But  whenever  there  was  trouble, 
Miss  Berengaria,  in  spite  of  her  sharp  tongue,  was  al- 
ways to  be  relied  upon.  Her  bark  was  five  times  as  bad 
as  her  bite,  therefore  those  present  made  all  allowance 
for  her  somewhat  free  speech. 

"  We  start  back  at  half-past  four,"  announced  the  old 


The  Past  of  Alice  201 


ladj,  when  the  luncheon  was  ended,  "  as  I  don't  like 
driving  in  the  dark.  It  is  now  four,  so  you  have  just 
time  to  talk  over  what  is  to  be  done." 

"  What  do  you  advise,  Miss  Berengaria?  "  asked  Dur- 
ham. 

"  I  advise  Bernard  to  give  himself  up,  and  face  the 
matter  out." 

"  Oh,  aunt !  "  cried  Alice,  taking  her  lover's  hand. 

"  My  dear,  this  hole-and-corner  business  is  no  good. 
And  the  discovery  of  the  likeness  between  Michael  and 
Bernard  brings  a  new  element  into  play.  If  Bernard 
lets  himself  be  arrested^  the  whole  business  can  be 
threshed  out  in  daylight.  Besides,  as  we  stand  now, 
that  Beryl  creature — drat  him! — will  make  michief." 

"  He  has  found  out  that  Bernard  is  alive,"  said  Alice. 

"That's  impossible!  "  cried  Durham,  waking  up  and 
sitting  apparently  on  thorns.  "  He  doesn't  know  Ber- 
nard is  at  this  Castle." 

"  Alice  has  put  the  matter  wrongly,"  said  Bernard, 
taking  out  the  letter  of  Beryl.  "  She  received  this  from 
Julius.  He  says  he  saw  me  in  the  streets  of  London. 
That  means  he  saw  Michael  Gilroy." 

"  Ah!  And  made  the  mistake,  as  everyone  else  seems 
to  have  done." 

"  I  doubt  that,  Alice,"  said  Miss  Plantagenet,  "  I 
doubt  that  very  much.  It  seems  to  me  that  Beryl — 
drat  him! — knows  a  great  deal  more  than  we  do.  It's 
ray  opinion,"  added  the  old  lady,  looking  round 
triumphantly,  "  that  Beryl  has  used  Micliael  as  an  in- 
strument." 

"  I  think  so  also,"  said  Durham,  quickly,  "  and  it 
comes  to  tliis,  that  if  I  accidentally  met  ]\Iichael,  or  if 
he  called  at  my  office  representing  himself  as  Bernard, 
I  should  accept  him  as  such." 


202  The  Red  JVindow 

"  What  for?  "  asked  Bernard,  angrily. 

"  There  you  go  with  your  temper,"  said  Miss  Beren- 
garia.  "  Durham  is  quite  right  and  shows  more  sense 
than  I  expected  from  him.  The  only  way  to  get  at  the 
truth — which  this  Michael  with  his  mother  knows — is 
to  give  him  a  long  enough  rope  to  let  him  hang  him- 
self. I  daresay  if  Durham  won  his  confidence,  the  man 
might  presume  on  his  being  accepted  as  Bernard,  and 
might  give  us  a  clue.  What  do  you  say,  Alice?  Don't 
sit  twiddling  your  thumbs,  but  answer." 

Miss  Malleson  laughed.    "  I  agree  with  you,  aunt." 

"  Of  course  you  do.  Am  I  ever  wrong?  Well? " 
She  looked  round. 

Durham  answ^ered  her  look.  "  I  Avill  go  back  to  Lon- 
don,"  he  said,  "  and  will  advertise  for  Mrs.  Gilroy " 

"  She  won't  be  such  a  fool  as  to  obey." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  Miss  Plantagenet;  she  may." 

"  She  won't,  I  tell  you." 

"  Then  Michael  may  come," 

"What!  with  that  murder  hanging  over  his  head? 
Rubbish!" 

"  You  forget  Bernard  is  accused.  Michael  can  clear 
himself." 

Miss  Berengaria  snorted  and  rubbed  her  nose.  "  Can 
he  ?  then  I  should  very  much  like  to  know  how  he  can. 
Do  what  you  like,  young  man,  but  mark  my  words: 
your  net  will  catch  no  fish." 

"  It  may  catch  Beryl,"  said  Bernard,  thoughtfully. 
"  When  he  sees  Mark  advertising  he  will  be  on  the  look- 
out." 

"  To  have  Michael  arrested  as  Bernard,"  said  Miss 
Berengaria.  "  Well,  he  might.  And  if  so,  all  the  bet- 
ter for  you.  Gore.  Oh  dear  me  " — she  rose  to  put  on 
her  bonnet — "  what  a  lot  of  trouble  all  this  is." 


The  Past  of  Alice  203 

"  And  it  rose  from.  Bernard  being  true  to  me,"  said 
Alice,  tenderly. 

"  As  if  you  weren't  worth  the  world,"  said  Bernard, 
assisting  her  to  put  on  her  cloak. 

"  Eh,  what's  that?  "  said  the  old  lady.  "  Hum!  Ber- 
nard,  your  grandfather  was  a  silly  fool — no,  I  won't 
say  that — but  he  was  an  upsetting  peacock.  The  idea 
of  not  thinking  Alice  good  enough  for  you!  " 

"  She  is  too  good  for  me." 

"  I  quite  agree  mth  you,"  said  the  lawyer,  laughing; 
"  but  you  see,  Miss  Berengaria,  it  was  not  the  person- 
ality of  Miss  Malleson  that  Sir  Simon  objected  to,  but 
her " 

"  I  know — I  know,"  said  the  old  lady  tartly.  "  Bless 
the  man,  does  he  take  me  for  an  idiot."  She  sat  down. 
"  I'm  a  fool." 

Everyone  looked  at  one  another  when  Miss  Beren- 
garia made  this  startling  announcement.  As  a  rule, 
she  called  others  fools,  but  she  was  chary  of  applying 
the  term  to  herself.  She  looked  round.  "  I  am  a 
fool,"  she  announced  again.  "  Alice,  come  and  sit 
down.  I  have  something  to  say  that  should  have  been 
said  long  ago." 

"  What  is  it? "  asked  the  girl,  seating  herself  beside 
the  old  lady.  Miss  Berengaria,  a  rare  thing  for  her, 
began  to  weep.  "  The  air  here  is  too  strong  for 
me,"  she  said  in  excuse.  "  All  the  same,  I  must  speak 
out  even  through  my  tears,  silly  woman  that  I  am!  Oh, 
if  I  hadn't  been  too  proud  to  explain  to  that  dead  pea- 
cock " — she  meant  the  late  baronet — "  all  this  would 
have  been  avoided." 

"  Do  you  mean  my  grandfather  would  have  coe- 
sented  to  the  marriage?  " 


204  The  Red  JViiidow 

"  I  mean  nothing  of  the  sort,  Bernard,  so  don't  in- 
terrupt," said  Miss  Bcrengaria,  sharply,  "  but  I'm  a 
fool.    Bernard,  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"  If  you  would  come  to  the  point.  Miss  Plautagenet, 
and " 

"  I  am  coming  to  it,  Durham,"  she  said  quickly. 
"  Don't  worry  me.  It  is  this  way:  Sir  Simon  objected 
to  Alice  because  he  knew  nothing  of  her  parentage." 

"  I  know  nothing  myself,"  said  Alice,  sadly. 

"  Well  then,  I  intend  to  tell  you  now.  You  are  per- 
fectly well  born  and  you  have  every  right  to  the  name 
of  Malleson,  though  why  Sir  Simon  thought  you  hadn't 
I  can't  say.  Give  me  your  hand,  my  love,  and  I'll  tell 
you  who  you  are  as  concisely  as  possible." 

Alice  did  as  she  was  told,  and  Miss  Plantagenet  be- 
gan in  a  hurry,  as  though  anxious  to  get  over  a  dis- 
agreeable task.  Durham  and  Bernard  listened  with  all 
their  ears.     Miss  Berengaria  noticed  this. 

"  You  needn't  look  so  eager,"  she  said  tartly;  "  the 
story  is  dull.  Alice,  do  you  remember  that  I  told  you 
I  was  engaged  once  to  a  wicked  fool?  " 

"  Yes — ^you  said " 

"  There's  no  need  to  repeat  what  I  said.  I  am  quite 
sure  it  isn't  edifying.  I  have  far  too  long  a  tongue,  but 
old  age  will  be  garrulous — drat  it!  Well  then,  Alice, 
that  man  who  said  he  loved  me  and  lied  was  your  grand- 
father. He  married  a  girl  with  money,  for  then  I  had 
only  my  looks,  and  I  was  handsome,"  said  Miss  Beren- 
garia, emphatically;  "  but  George — his  name  was 
George  and  I've  hated  it  ever  since — didn't  want  beauty 
or  brains.  He  wanted  mone,y,  and  got  it,  along  with  a 
weeping  idiot  whose  heart  he  broke.  I  swore  never  to 
look  on  a  man  again,  and  when  my  father  died  I  came 


The  Past  of  Alice  205 


to  live  at  The  Bower.  But  I  heard  that  George's  wife 
had  died,  leaving  him  one  daughter " 

"  That  was  me,"  said  Alice,  hastily. 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort.  I  said  that  George — his  other 
name  doesn't  matter  at  present,  although  it  can  be  men- 
tioned if  necessary — I  said  that  George  was  your  grand- 
father. The  daughter  grew  up  and  married  your  father, 
who  was  a  colonel  in  the  Indian  army.  But  both  your 
parents  died  when  you  were  young.  I  received  you 
from  your  dying  mother's  arms  and  I  sent  you  to  a  con- 
vent. I  couldn't  bear  the  sight  of  you  for  months," 
said  the  old  lady,  energetically.  "  You  have  a  look  of 
handsome  George,  and  handsome  he  was.  Well  then, 
when  you  grew  up  and  behaved  yourself,  I  took  you 
from  the  convent,  and  you  have  been  with  me  ever 


since." 


"  You  are  my  second  mother,"  said  Alice,  embracing 
her. 

"  The  first — the  only  mother,"  said  Miss  Berengaria, 
sharply.  "  You  never  knew  any  mother  but  me,  and  as 
your  grandfather  defrauded  me  of  my  rights  to  marry, 
I  look  upon  you  as  my  child." 

"  But  why  did  you  not  tell  this  perfectly  plain  story 
to  Sir  Simon?  " 

"  Why  didn't  I,  Durham?  "  asked  Miss  Berengaria 
tearfully.  "  You  may  well  ask  that.  Pride,  my  dear — 
pride.  Sir  Simon  and  I  were  in  society  together.  He 
wanted  to  marry  me,  and  I  refused.  So  I  never  became 
your  grandmother,  Bernard,  and  I  certainly  should 
never  have  had  a  son  like  your  father,  who  is " 

"  Don't.    He  is  my  father  after  all." 

"  Was,  you  mean,  seeing  he  is  dead.  Well,  my  dear 
boy,  I'll  say  nothing  about  him.    But  Sir  Simon  loved 


206  The  Red  JVindow 

me  and  I  preferred  George,  who  was  a  villain.  I 
couldn't  bear  to  think  that  Sir  Simon  should  know  I  had 
forgotten  my  anger  against  George  to  the  extent  of 
helping  his  grand-daughter.  An  unworthy  feeling  you 
all  think  it — of  course — of  course.  But  I  am  a 
woman,  when  all  is  said  and  done,  my  dears.  And  an- 
other thing — Simon  Gore  was  too  dictatorial  for  me, 
and  I  wasn't  going  to  give  any  explanation.  Besides 
which,  had  he  known  Alice,  that  you  were  George's 
grand-daughter — and  he  hated  George — he  would  have 
been  more  set  against  the  marriage  than  ever.  And 
now  you  know  what  a  wicked  woman  I  have  been." 

"  Not  wicked,  aunt,"  said  Alice,  kissing  the  withered 
cheek. 

"  Yes,  wicked,"  said  Miss  Berengaria,  sobbing,  "  I 
should  have  told  the  truth  and  shamed  the — I  mean 
shamed  Sir  Simon.  Perhaps  I  could  have  arranged  the 
marriage  had  I  subdued  my  pride  into  obeying  Sir 
Simon.  But  I  couldn't,  and  he  was  angry,  and  all  these 
troubles  have  arisen  out  of  my  silly  silence." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Bernard,  soriy  for  her  distress. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  cried  the  old  lady,  rising  and  drying  her 
tears.  "  Don't  you  contradict  me,  Bernard.  If  I  had 
told  the  truth  and  let  Sir  Simon  know  that  Alice  was 
well  born,  he  might  have  consented." 

"  l^ot  if  he  knew  that  Alice  was  George's  grand- 
daughter." 

Miss  Berengaria  tossed  her  head.  "  I  don't  know," 
she  said,  moving  towards  the  door.  "  I  might  have 
managed  him,  obstinate  as  he  was.  But  if  Sir  Simon 
had  not  been  angry,  he  would  not  have  sent  you  away, 
Bernard,  and  then  all  this  rubbish  about  the  Red 
.Window  would  not  have  drawn  you  to  that  dreadful 


The  Past  of  Alice  207 

house,  to  be  accused  of  a  wicked  crime.  But,  oh  dear 
me!  what's  the  use  of  talking?  Here  are  the  horses 
standing  all  this  time  at  the  door,  and  it's  getting  on  to' 
five.  Alice,  come  home,"  and  Miss  Berengaria  sailed 
out  wrathfuUy. 

The  others  looked  at  one  another  and  smiled.  Then 
Durham  left  the  lovers  alone  and  went  to  assist  Miss 
Berengaria  into  the  carriage. 

She  was  already  in  and  caught  his  hand.  "  Spare  no 
expense  to  help  that  dear  boy,"  she  whispered.  "  He 
must  be  set  free.  And,  for  goodness  sake,  tell  Alice  to 
come  at  once.    Why  is  she  drivelling  there?  " 

"  Love !  Miss  Berengaria,  love !  " 

"  Stuff!  "  said  the  old  lady,  "  and  a  man  of  your  age 
talking  so.  Good-bye.  Alice,  are  you  comfortable? 
James,  drive  on,  and  don't  upset  us." 


CHAPTEE  XVI 


THE   UNEXPECTED 


lliss  Berengaria's  servants  had  been  with  her  for  a 
long  time  and  were  all  eminently  respectable.  She  was 
— needless  to  say — very  good  to  them,  and  they  adored 
and  obeyed  her  in  quite  a  feudal  manner.  When  at 
supper  in  the  servants'  hall — all  old  and  all  sedate — 
they  might  have  been  a  company  of  Quakers  from  the 
sobriety  of  their  demeanor.  The  head  of  the  table  was 
taken  by  the  cook,  and  the  foot  by  James  the  coachman. 
Those  two  were  married  and  were  both  fat,  both  de- 
voted to  Miss  Berengaria,  and  both  rulers  of  the  other 
servants.  The  coachman  swayed  the  little  kingdom  of 
domestics  with  his  stout  wife  as  queen. 

On  the  very  evening  Miss  Plantagenet  came  back 
from  Cove  Castle,  the  servants  were  enjoying  a  good 
supper,  and  James  was  detailing  the  events  of  the  day. 
After  this  his  wife  narrated  what  had  taken  place  dur- 
ing his  absence.  And  at  the  side  of  the  table  sat  Jerry, 
looking  the  picture  of  innocence,  occupied  with  his 
bread  and  cheese,  but  taking  everything  in.  The  infor- 
mation conveyed  to  James  by  the  cook  related  to  several 
tramps  that  had  called,  and  to  the  killing  of  two  fowls 
by  a  fox  terrier  that  belonged  to  a  neighbor. 

"  And  a  nice  rage  the  missus  will  be  in  over  them," 
said  cook. 

"  You  should  have  set  Sloppy  Jane  on  the  terrier," 
said  James.     "  Our  poultry  is  prize  birds  and  worth  a 


The  Unexpected  209 

dozen  of  tliem  snappy  dogs  as  bite  the  heels  of  respect- 
able folk." 

"  Sloppy  Jane  was  with  me,"  said  a  sedate  housemaid. 
'"  A  tramp  came  to  the  gate  asking  for  Miss  Alice,  and 
I  couldn't  get  him  away." 

"What  did  he  want  with  Miss  Alice?"  demanded 
James,  aggressively. 

"Ah,  what  indeed!  "  said  the  housemaid.  "I  told 
him  Miss  Alice  wouldn't  speak  to  the  like  of  him.  But 
he  looked  a  gentleman,  though  he  had  a  two  days'  beard 
and  was  dressed  in  such  rags  as  you  never  saw." 

"Did  he  go,  Sarah?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  went  in  a  lingering  sort  of  way,  and  I 
had  to  tie  Jane  up  in  case  she'd  fly  on  him.  I  didn't 
want  that." 

"Why  not?"  said  the  coachman,  dictatorially. 
"  Tramps  is  tramps." 

Sarah  pondered.  "  W^ell,  cook  and  James,  it's  this 
way,"  she  said,  with  some  hesitation.  "  This  murder  of 
old  Sir  Simon — "  Jerry  pricked  up  his  ears  at  this  and 
looked  more  innocent  than  ever. 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  cook,  wondering  why  Sarah 
stopped. 

"  They  said  his  grandson  done  it." 

"  And  that  I'll  never  believe,"  cried  James,  pound- 
ing the  table.  "  A  noble  young  gentleman  Mr.  Ber- 
nard, and  many  a  half-crown  he's  given  me.  lie  never 
did  it,  and  even  if  he  did,  he's  dead  and  gone." 

Sarah  drew  back  from  the  table.  "  I  really  forgot 
that,"  she  whimpered.  "  It  must  have  been  his  ghost," 
and  she  threw  her  apron  over  her  head. 

"What's  that,  Sarah?  A  ghost!  There's  no  such 
thing.     Whose  ghost? " 


210  The  lied  Window 

^'  Mr.  Bernard's,"  said  Sarah,  looking  scared,  as  she 
removed  her  apron.  "  Oh,  to  think  I  should  have  lived 
to  see  a  ghost.  Yes,  you  may  all  look,  but  that  tramp, 
ragged  and  torn,  was  Mr.  Gore.  Don't  I  know  him  as 
well  as  I  know  myself?  " 

"  Sarah,"  said  James,  while  the  cook  turned  pale  and 
Jerry  listened  more  eagerly  than  ever,  "  you  rave  in  a 
crazy  way." 

"  Oh,  well,  there's  no  knowing,"  cried  Sarah,  hyster- 
ically, "  but  the  tramp  was  Mr.  Gore,  and  I  forgot  he 
was  dead.  His  ghost — it  must  have  been  his  ghost,  l^o 
wonder  Jane  wanted  to  fly  at  him." 

''Mr.  Bernard's  ghost  wanting  to  see  Miss  Alice!  " 
said  cook.  "  Get  along  with  you,  Sarah!  He  must  be 
alive.  I  don't  believe  all  the  papers  say.  Perhaps  he 
wasn't  drowned  after  all." 

"  We  must  inquire  into  this,"  said  James,  magis- 
terially and  feeling  for  his  glasses.  "  Oh,  by  the  way  " 
— he  drew  a  dirty  envelope  out  of  his  pocket — "  here's 
something  for  you,  young  shaver."  He  threw  it  across 
to  Jerry.  "  I  was  sitting  in  the  kitchen  in  his  lordship's 
castle  and  being  waited  on  by  a  dark-eyed  wench.  I  told 
her  of  us  here  and  mentioned  you.  She  said  she  knew 
you  and  asked  me  to  give  you  that.  And,  to  be  sure, 
she  would  know  you,"  added  James,  half  to  himself, 
"  seeing  Mrs.  Moon  is  your  grandmother,  and  a  fine 
figure  of  a  woman.    But  touching  this  here  ghost " 

Jerry  rose  from  the  table  and  retreated  to  a  corner  of 
the  warm  room  to  read  his  note.  But  he  kept  his  ears 
open  all  the  time  to  the  coachman's  investigation  of 
Sarah's  doings  with  the  tramp.  The  note  was  from 
Victoria  asking  Jerry  to  come  over  and  see  her,  and 
stating  that  there    was  a  gentleman    stopping  at  the 


The  Unexpected  211 


castle.  "  There's  something  queer  about  him,  Jerry,  as 
he  keeps  himself  very  much  to  himself.  Also  he  knows 
your  whistle  as  you  whistles  to  me,  which  is  funny. 
Can't  you  come  over  and  see  me?  "  This,  with  all  allow- 
ance for  mis-spelling,  was  what  Jerry  deciphered.  Then 
he  thrust  the  note  into  his  pocket  and  returned  to  the 
table. 

"  He  had  an  awful  cough,  this  tramp,"  said  Sarah. 

"  Ghosts  don't  cough,"  remarked  cook. 

"  This  one  did  awful,  and  he  looked  that  pale  and 
thin  as  never  was." 

"  He  went  away  in  broad  daylight  ?  "  asked  James. 

"  It  was  getting  dark — about  five  maybe.  I  was 
sorry  for  him,  and  I  would  have  let  him  in  to  see  Miss 
Alice,  he  seemed  so  disappointed." 

"  Ah,  Sarah,  it's  a  pity  you  didn't  let  him  in." 

"  But,  Mr.  James,  you  can  a-bear  tramps." 

"  Or  ghosts,"  added  the  cook,  fearfully. 

"  It  were  no  tramp  and  no  spectre,"  said  the  coach- 
man. "  I  see  it  all."  He  looked  solemnly  round  the 
company.  "  This  was  Mr.  Bernard  come  to  see  if  Miss 
Alice  will  help  him.    He's  alive,  God  be  praised!  " 

"  Amen,"  said  the  cook,  bowing  her  head  as  though 
in  church. 

"  And  if  he  comes  again,  we  will  let  him  in  and  say 
nothing  to  the  police." 

"I  should  not,"  said  Sarah;  "he  looked  so  sad  and 
pale.  Oh  dear  me!  and  such  a  fine,  handsome  young 
gentleman  he  was,  to  be  sure." 

"  We  will  swear  to  be  silent,"  said  James,  solemnly, 
"  seeing  as  we  are  all  sure  Mr.  Bernard  never  killed  old 
Sir  Simon." 

"  I'd  never  believe  it  if  a  jury  told  me,"  said  the  cook. 

"  Young  Jerry,  swear  to  be  silent." 


212  The  Red  Window 

"  Oh!  I'm  flj,  Mr.  James,"  said  Jerry,  easily;  "  but 
who  is  Mr.  Bernard?  and  why  did  he  kill  Sir  Simon?  " 

"  He  didn't,  and  he's  the  present  baronet  at  the  Hall, 
young  Jerry.  You  don't  chatter  or  I'll  thrash  you 
within  an  inch  of  your  life." 

"  Oh,  he  won't  talk,"  said  the  good-natured  cook. 
"  He's  an  angel." 

Sarah  snorted.  She  was  not  so  impressed  val\\ 
Jerry's  angelic  qualities  as  the  rest  of  the  company. 
However,  Jerry,  who  had  his  own  reasons  to  retire, 
slipped  away  unostentatiously  and  read  Victoria's  letter 
for  the  second  time.  Then  he  talked  to  himself  in  a 
whisper. 

"  He's  alive  after  all,"  he  said,  "  and  he's  stopping  at 
that  castle.  I  daresay  the  old  girl  " — he  thus  profanely 
described  his  mistress — "  went  over  to  there  to  see  him 
Avith  Miss  Alice.  And  they  brought  him  back,  drop- 
ping him  on  the  way  so  that  he  could  get  into  the  house 
quietly.  He  knows  my  whistle.  ISTo  one  but  him  could 
know  it,  as  he  heard  me  on  that  night.  What's  to  be 
done?  I'll  go  out  and  have  a  look  round.  He  may  come 
back  again." 

Jerry  was  too  young  to  be  so  exact  as  he  should  be. 
There  were  several  flaws  in  his  argument.  But  he  v/as 
too  excited  to  think  over  these.  It  never  struck  him 
that  Miss  Plantagenet  could  have  smuggled  Gore  easier 
into  the  house  by  bringing  him  in  her  carriage  after 
swearing  James  to  secrecy,  than  by  letting  him  ap- 
proach the  house  in  the  character  of  a  tramp.  But  it 
was  creditable  to  the  lad's  observation  that  he  so  quickly 
conjectured  the  mysterious  stranger  at  the  castle  should 
be  Bernard.  Jerry  knew  that  Conniston  was  a  close 
friend  of  Gore's,  and  saw  at  once  that  Bernard  had 


The  Unexpected  213 


sought  the  refuge  of  the  castle  where  he  would  remain 
undiscovered.  But  for  Victoria's  hint  Jerry  would 
never  have  guessed  this.  It  was  his  duty  to  communi- 
cate this  knowledge  to  Beryl,  but  for  reasons  of  his  own 
connected  with  the  chance  of  a  reward  or  a  bribe  to 
hold  his  tongue,  from  someone  who  could  pay  better 
than  Beryl — say  Lord  Conniston — Jerry  determined  to 
wait  quietly  to  see  how  things  would  turn  out.  Mean- 
while he  strolled  round  to  the  fowls,  where  he  thought 
it  likely  the  tramp — if  he  was  a  tramp — might  come. 
If  not  a  tramp  he  might  come  this  way  also  as  the 
easiest  to  enter  the  grounds. 

The  poultry  yard  was  carved  out  of  a  large  meadow 
by  the  side  of  the  gardens.  It  ran  back  a  considerable 
distance  from  the  high  road,  and  at  the  far  end  was 
fenced  with  a  thin  plantation  of  elms.  Wire  netting 
and  stout  fences  surrounded  the  yard,  and  there  was  a 
gate  opening  on  to  the  meadow  aforesaid.  Jerry  hov- 
ered round  these  precincts  watching,  but  he  did  not  ex- 
pect any  luck.  However,  the  boy,  being  a  born  blood- 
hound, waited  for  the  sheer  excitement  of  the  thing. 

Now  it  happened  that  Miss  Berengaria  had  left  the 
house  of  a  pair  of  Cochin  fowls  unlocked.  She  would 
have  gone  out  to  lock  it  herself  but  that  she  was  so 
weary.  All  the  same,  she  would  not  delegate  the  duty 
to  her  servants,  as  she  considered  they  might  not  exe- 
cute the  commission  properly.  Finally  Alice  offered 
to  go,  and,  after  putting  on  a  thick  waterproof  and  a 
large  pair  of  rubber  boots  which  belonged  to  Miss  Plan- 
tagonet,  she  ventured  out.  Thus  it  was  that  she  paddled 
round  to  the  yard  with  a  lantern  and  came  into  the 
neighborhood  of  Jerry.  That  suspicious  young  man  im- 
mediately thought  she  had  heard  of  Bernard's  coming 


214  '  The  Red  TVindow 

and  had  come  out  to  meet  liim.  He  snuggled  into  a 
corner  near  the  gate  and  watched  as  best  he  could  in  the 
darkness. 

It  was  pouring  rain,  and  the  sky  Avas  black  with 
swiftlv-moving  clouds.  These  streamed  across  the  face 
of  a  haggard-looking  moon,  and  in  the  flaws  of  the  wind 
down  came  the  rain  in  a  perfect  drench. 

Alice,  with  her  dress  drawn  up,  a  lantern  in  one  hand 
and  an  umbrella  of  the  Gamp  species  extended  above 
her  head,  ventured  into  the  yard,  and  locked  up  the 
precious  fowls.  Then  she  came  back  round  by  the  gate 
to  see  if  it  was  barred.  To  her  surprise  it  was  open. 
Rather  annoyed  she  closed  it  again,  and  put  up  the  bar. 
Then  she  took  her  way  round  by  the  side  of  the  house 
to  enter  by  the  front  door. 

Jerry  followed  with  the  step  of  a  red  Indian.  He  was 
rewarded. 

Just  as  Alice  turned  the  corner  of  the  house,  she 
heard  a  groan,  and  almost  stumbled  over  a  body  lying 
on  the  flower-bed  under  the  wall  of  the  house.  At  first 
she  gave  a  slight  shriek,  but  before  she  could  step  back 
the  man  clutched  her  feet — *' Alice!  Alice!"  moaned 
the  man.     "  Save  me! — it's  Bernard." 

"  Bernard  here,"  said  Alice,  with  a  shudder,  and 
wondered  how  he  had  come  from  the  castle.  She  turned 
the  light  on  to  his  face,  and  then  started  back.  This 
was  not  Bernard. 

In  the  circle  of  light  she  saw — and  Jerry  slinking 
along  the  side  of  the  fence  saw  also — a  pale,  thin  face 
with  a  wild  look  on  it.  The  hair  was  long  and  matted, 
there  was  a  scrul)by  growth  on  the  chin,  and  the  eyes 
wore  sunken  for  want  of  food.  Still  it  was  Bernard's 
face,  and  but  that  she  had  seen  him  on  that  very  after- 


.,-"■-. 


The  Unexpected  215 


noon,  she  would  have  been  deceived,  until  she  had  made 
a  closer  acquaintance  with  the  tramp.  But  Alice,  hav- 
ing heard  the  story  of  Mrs.  Gilroy's  son,  knew  at  once 
that  this  miserable  creature  was  Michael.  He  was 
representing  himself  to  her  as  Bernard,  and,  mindful 
of  Durham's  advice,  after  the  first  start  of  alarm  she 
determined  to  treat  him  as  though  she  believed  he  was 
her  lover. 

"  Can  you  get  to  your  feet?  "  she  said,  touching  him, 
although  her  soul  shuddered  within  her  when  she 
thought  what  the  man  had  done. 

"  Yes,"  said  Michael,  hoarsely,  and  tried  to  rise. 

She  assisted  him  to  his  feet  but  his  weight  almost 
made  her  sink,  "  I  must  get  the  servants,"  said  she, 
trying  to  disengage  herself. 

"  No !  no !  "  said  the  man  in  a  voice  of  hoarse  terror. 
"  They  will  give  me  up.    Remember  Vv^hat  I  have  done." 

Alice  did  remember  indeed,  and  shuddered  again. 
But  it  was  needful  for  the  clearing  of  Bernard  that  she 
should  carry  on  the  comedy  so  as  to  detain  the  man. 
A  word  from  her,  that  she  knew  who  he  really  was, 
and  he  would  fly  at  once — when  all  chance  of  saving 
Gore  would  be  at  an  end.  Therefore  she  half  led,  half 
dragged  him  round  the  corner  of  the  house  in  the  driv- 
ing rain.  Jerry  waited  till  the  two  disappeared  and  the 
last  gleam  of  the  lantern  vanished.  Then  he  went  back 
to  the  kitchen  unconcernedlv. 

"  AVhere  have  you  been?  "  asked  James,  sternly. 

"  Looking  to  see  if"  the  poultry  gate  was  all  right," 
said  Jerry.  "  You  see,  Mr.  James,  a  tramp  might  come 
in  there." 

"  It  was  your  duty  to  shut  it." 

"  I  have  shut  it,"  said  Jerry,  vdih  assumed  sulkiness. 


216  TJie  Red  JVindow 

"  !Now  don't  jou  give  me  your  lip,  young  sir,  or  I'll 
knock  your  head  off — do  you  hear?  Any  tramps 
about? '' 

"  JSTo,"  said  Jerry,  mendaciously,  "  all's  safe."  And, 
with  a  wonderful  sense  in  a  lad  of  his  age,  he  said  no 
more.  Then  he  sat  down  to  cards  Avith  the  cook,  and 
never  made  a  solitary  mention  of  what  was  going  on  in 
the  front  of  the  house.  As  he  quite  expected,  jMiss 
Plantagenet  never  sent  for  any  of  the  servants. 
"  They'll  manage  the  job  themselves,"  thought  Jerry, 
playing  cheerfully.  When  he  retired  to  bed  he  had  a 
wonderful  lot  to  think  about,  and  more  than  ever  he 
determined  to  watch  which  way  the  wind  blew  so  as  to 
make  as  much  money  out  of  his  knowledge  as  possible. 
Jerry  was  a  marvellously  precocious  criminal  and  knew 
much  more  than  was  good  for  hmi.  Miss  Bcrcngaria 
would  have  fainted — unaccustomed  as  she  was  to  in- 
dulge in  such  weakness — had  she  known  the  kind  of 
youth  she  sheltered  under  her  roof. 

But  poor  Miss  Berengaria  had  her  hands  full.  She 
left  the  front  door  open  for  the  return  of  Alice,  and 
heard  it  close  with  a  bang.  At  once  she  started  from 
her  seat  before  the  fire  in  the  drawing-room  to  rebuke 
the  girl  for  such  carelessness,  but  her  anger  changed  to 
astonishment  when  Alice  appeared  at  the  door  stream- 
ing with  wet  and  supporting  a  man,  "  Aunt!  "  cried 
Alice,  dropping  the  man  in  a  heap  and  eagerly  closing 
the  door.     "  Here's  Bernard!  " 

"  Bernard!  "  exclaimed  Miss  Plantagenet,  staring. 

"Yes,  yes!"  said  Alice,  passing  over  and  pinching 
her  aunt's  arm.  "  See  how  pale  he  is  and  hungry.  He 
escaped,  and  has  come  for  us  to  save  him.  If  tho 
Dolice " 


The  Unexpected  217 


The  man  on  the  floor,  who  was  in  a  half  stupor,  half 
rose.  "The  police — the  police!  "  he  said  thickl}^,  and 
his  wild  eyes  glared.  "  ISTo.  I  will  confess  everything. 
Alice,  I  am — I  am — "    He  dropped  again. 

By  this  time  Miss  Plantagenet,  accepting  the  hint  of 
Alice's  pinch,  was  beginning  to  grasp  the  situation.  She 
scarcely  relished  having  a  murderer  under  her  roof,  but 
for  the  sake  of  Bernard  she  felt  that  she  also  must  aid 
in  the  deception.  But  she  could  not  conceive  how 
Michael  could  have  the  audacity  to  pass  himself  off  as 
Bernard  to  one  who  knew  him  so  intimately  as  Alice. 
At  the  same  time,  she  saw  the  wonderful  likeness  to 
Gore.  He  and  Michael  might  have  been  twins,  but 
Michael  had  not  the  mole  which  was  his  brother's  dis- 
tinguishing mark.  Still,  unless  Michael  knew  all  about 
Bernard's  life,  unless  he  was  educated  like  him,  unless 
he  knew  his  ways  and  tricks  and  manners,  it  was  im- 
possible that  he  should  hope  to  deceive  Alice  or  even 
Miss  Berengaria  herself. 

Also  there  was  another  thing  to  be  considered.  How 
came  the  man  in  this  plight?  He  had  received  oue 
thousand  pounds  from  Sir  Simon  in  the  beginning  of 
October,  and  therefore  must  have  plenty  of  money. 
Yet  here  he  was — thin,  haggard,  in  squalid  rags,  and 
evidently  a  hunted  fugitive.  It  was  not  a  comedy  got 
up  to  deceive  them,  for  both  women  saw  that  the  man 
really  was  suffering.  He  was  now  lying  in  a  stupor, 
but,  for  all  that,  he  might  have  sense  enough  to  know 
what  they  said,  so  both  were  cautious  after  a  glance  ex- 
changed between  them. 

"  We  must  take  Bernard  up  to  the  turret-roomj"  said 
Miss  Berengaria,  promptly.  "  He'll  be  all  right  to- 
night and  then  we  can  send  for  Payne  to-morrow.  Help 
me  with  him,  Alice." 


218  The  Red  irmdow 


"  But,  aunt,  the  servants — " 

"  They  will  hold  their  tongues.    I'll  see  to  that." 

"  Bless  jou,"  murmured  the  half  stupefied  man.  "  I 
can't  thank  you  for — Oh !  if  you  only  knew  all !  I  want 
to  tell  you  something." 

"  'Eexav  mind  just  now,"  said  the  old  lady,  sharply. 
"  Try  and  get  up  the  stairs  supported  by  Alice  and  my- 
self. Then  we'll  put  you  to  bed  and  give  you  some- 
thing to  eat." 

"Will  I  be  safe?"  asked  the  man,  looking  round 
anxiously. 

"  Quite  safe.  Do  you  think  I  would  let  you  be  taken, 
Bernard?  "  said  Alice,  although  her  soul  sickened  in  her 
at  the  deception. 

"  I — trust — ^you,"  said  Michael,  with  a  strange  look 
at  her.  "  I  am  ill  and  dirty,  and — and — but  you  know 
I  am  Bernard,"  he  burst  out  in  a  pitiful  kind  of  way. 

"  Yes,  of  course  you  are.  Anyone  can  see  that,"  said 
Miss  Berengaria,  as  Alice  didn't  answer.  "  Help  him 
up,  Alice." 

The  two  dragged  the  man  up  tlie  stairs  painfully,  he 
striving  his  best  to  make  his  weight  light.  Miss  Beren- 
garia approved  of  this.  "  lie's  got  good  stuff  in  him," 
she  said,  when  they  led  him  into  the  small  room,  which 
took  up  the  whole  of  the  second  floor  of  the  turret. 

"  lie  always  had,"  said  Alice,  warmly,  and  for  the 
sake  of  the  comedy. 

But  Miss  Berengaria  f  ro^vned.  She  applied  what  she 
said  to  Michael. 

Then  Miss  Berengaria  sent  Alice  downstairs  to  heat 
some  wine,  and  made  Michael  go  to  bed.  He  was  as 
weak  as  a  child,  and  simply  let  her  do  what  she  liked. 
iWith  some  difficulty  she  managed  to  put  him  between 


The  Unexpected  219 


the  sheets,  and  then  washed  his  face  and  hands.  Finally, 
on  Alice  returning  with  the  wine  and  some  bread,  she 
fed  him  with  sops  of  the  latter  dipped  into  the  former. 
After  this,  as  Michael  displayed  symptoms  of  drowsi- 
ness, she  prepared  to  leave  him  to  a  sound  sleep.  "  And 
Payne  shall  see  you  to-morrow." 

"  But  I'll  be  safe — safe,"  said  the  sick  man,  half 
starting  up. 

"  Of  course.    Lie  down  and  sleep." 

Michael  strove  to  say  something,  then  sank  back  on 
his  pillows.  The  two  hurried  out  of  the  room  and  down 
the  stairs  feeling  like  conspirators.  ISTot  until  they  were 
safe  in  the  drawing-room  with  the  door  closed  did  they 
venture  to  speak,  and  then  only  did  so  in  whispers. 
Alice  was  the  first  to  make  a  remark. 

"  If  I  hadn't  seen  Bernard  this  very  day,  I  should 
have  been  deceived,  aunt.  Did  you  ever  see  so  wonder- 
ful a  likeness? " 

"  Never,"  admitted  Miss  Berengaria.  "  But  how  the 
deuce  " — she  was  always  a  lady  given  to  strong  expres- 
sions— "  does  the  man  expect  to  pass  himself  off  to  you 
as  Bernard?  There's  lots  of  things  Bernard  has  said 
about  which  he  must  know  nothing." 

"  I  can't  understand  it  myself.  Perhaps  he  came  to 
tell  the  truth." 

''  Humph!  "  Miss  Berengaria  rubbed  her  nose.  "  T 
don't  think  a  man  who  would  commit  a  murder  would 
tell  the  truth.  My  flesh  creeped  when  I  touched  him. 
All  the  same,  there's  pluck  in  the  fellow.  A  pity  he  is 
such  a  scamp.    Something  might  be  made  of  him." 

"  Do  you  think  he  has  got  himself  up  like  this  to — " 

"No,  no!"  snapped  Miss  Plantagenet,  "the  man's 
illness  is  genuine.    I  can  see  for  myself,  he's  only  skin 


220  The  Red  Window 


and  bone.  I  wonder  how  lie  came  to  be  in  such  a 
plight?" 

"  Perhaps  he  will  tell  us." 

"  He'll  tell  lies,"  said  the  old  lady,  grimly.  "  And 
for  the  sake  of  Bernard  we'll  pretend  to  believe  him. 
Wait  till  I  get  Durham  on  to  him.  He  won't  lie  then. 
But  the  main  point  is  to  keep  him.  He  is  the  only  per- 
son who  can  get  Bernard  out  of  the  trouble." 

"  What  shall  we  do,  aunt?  " 

"  Xurse  him  up  in  that  room,  telling  the  servants 
that  we  have  a  guest.  They  need  not  see  him.  And 
Payne  can  cure  him.  When  he  is  cured  we  will  see 
what  Durham  says.  That  young  man's  clever.  He 
will  know  how  to  deal  with  the  matter.  It's  beyond  me. 
ISTow  we  must  go  to  bed.  My  head  is  in  a  whirl  with 
the  excitement  of  this  day." 


CHAPTER  XVII 


THE   DIARY 


Before  Miss  Berengaria  could  conmiimicate  with 
Durham,  he  had  left  the  castle  for  town.  On  hearing 
this  from  Bernard,  the  old  lady  at  once  sent  up  to  him 
a  full  report  of  the  arrival  of  Michael  at  the  Bower 
under  the  name  of  Gore. 

"  He  is  now  a  trifle  better,"  wrote  Miss  Berengaria, 
"  but  having  suffered  from  great  privations  he  is  still 
ill,  and,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  is  likely  to  keep  to  his  bed 
for  some  time.  Payne  is  attending  to  him  and  says  he 
needs  careful  nursling  and  tonics.  He  is  so  weak  as  to 
be  scarcely  able  to  talk,  which  is  perhaps  all  the  better, 
as  Alice  and  I  might  arouse  his  suspicions.  We  have 
accepted  him  as  Bernard,  and  when  you  come  down  you 
can  question  him  either  in  that  character  or  as  ]\richacl. 
To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  am  sorry  for  the  boy — he  is 
only  twenty-one  or  thereabouts,  and  I  think  he  has  been 
misguided.  After  all,  even  he  may  not  have  committed 
the  crime,  although  he  was  certainly  with  Sir  Simon  on 
that  fatal  night.  The  servants — with  the  exception  of 
my  own  especial  maid,  Maria  Tait — know  nothing  of 
the  man's  presence  in  the  turret  chamber.  And  you 
may  be  sure  that  I  am  taking  care  Jerry  Moon  learns 
nothing.  But  I  sliall  be  glad  when  you  can  come  down 
to  take  the  matter  out  of  my  hands.  I  am  much  worried 
over  it.     Conniston  comes  over  daily  to  see  Lucy  Kan- 


222  IVic  Red  JJ^indow 

dolph  at  the  Hall,  but  he  is  so  feather-brained  a  creature 
that  I  don't  care  about  entrusting  such  a  secret  to  him. 
Nor  do  I  wish  Bernard  to  know.  With  his  impetuosity, 
he  would  probably  come  over  at  once,  and  run  the 
chance  of  arrest.  The  whole  matter  is  in  your  hands, 
Durham,  so  write  and  tell  me  what  I  am  to  do.  At  all 
events  I  have  a  fast  hold  of  Bernard's  double,  and  you 
may  be  sure  I  shall  not  allow  him  to  go  until  this  mys- 
tery is  cleared  up." 

In  reply  to  this  pressing  epistle,  Durham  wrote,  tell- 
ing Miss  Berengaria  to  wait  for  three  or  four  days.  He 
was  advertising  for  Tolomeo,  and  hoped  to  see  him  at 
his  office.  If,  as  Durham  thought,  the  Italian  had  been 
with  Sir  Simon  on  that  night,  something  might  be 
learned  from  him  likely  to  prove  the  presence  of 
Michael  in  the  room.  The  examination  of  Michael — 
which  Durham  proposed  to  make,  would  then  be  ren- 
dered much  easier.  The  lawyer,  in  conclusion,  quite 
agreed  with  Miss  Plantagenet  that  Conniston  and  Ber- 
nard should  not  be  told.  "  I  hope  to  be  with  you  by  the 
end  of  the  week,"  he  finished. 

"  Deuce  take  the  man,"  said  Miss  Berengaria,  rub- 
bing her  nose.  "  Does  he  think  I  can  wait  all  that 
time?" 

"  I  don't  see  what  else  you  can  do,  aunt,"  said  Alice, 
when  the  letter  was  read.  "  And  this  poor  creature  is 
so  weak,  that  I  do  not  think  he  will  be  able  to  speak 
much  for  a  few  days.  All  we  have  to  do  is  to  nurse 
him  and  ask  no  questions." 

"  And  to  let  him  think  wo  believe  him  to  be  Ber- 
nard." 

"  Oh,  he  is  quite    convinced    of    that,"  said    Alice, 


lite  Dianj  223 

quickly.  "  I  suppose  he  hoped  I  would  think  his  altered 
looks  might  induce  me  to  overlook  any  lack  of  resem- 
blance to  Bernard." 

"  Yes,  but  he  must  guess  when  you  talk  you  will  find 
him  out,  seeing  you  know  much  of  Bernard  that  he 
cannot  know." 

"  Perhaps  that  is  why  he  holds  his  tongue,"  said 
Alice,  rising.     "  But  we  must  wait,  aunt." 

"  I  suppose  we  must,"  said  Miss  Berengaria,  dole- 
fully. "  Drat  the  whole  business!  Was  there  ever  such 
a  coil?  " 

"  Well  then,  aunt,  will  you  leave  it  alone  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not.  I  intend  to  see  the  thing  through. 
Owing  to  my  reticence  to  Sir  Simon  about  your  parents, 
Alice,  I  am  really  responsible  for  the  whole  business,  so 
I  will  keep  working  at  it  until  Bernard  is  out  of  danger 
and  married  to  vou." 

"  Ah!  "  sighed  Miss  Malleson.  "  And  when  will  that 
be?" 

"  Sooner  than  you  think,  perhaps.  Every  day  brings 
a  surprise." 

One  day  certainly  brought  a  surprise  to  Lucy  Ran- 
dolph. She  learned  that  Conniston  loved  her,  though, 
to  be  sure,  his  frequent  visits  might  have  shown  her 
how  he  was  losing  his  heart.  She  was  glad  of  this  as 
she  admired  Conniston  exceedingly,  and,  moreover, 
wished  to  escape  from  her  awkward  position  at  the  Hall. 
When  Bernard  came  back  and  married  Alice,  she 
would  have  to  leave  the  Hall  and  live  on  the  small  in- 
come allotted  to  her  by  the  generosity  of  the  dead  man. 
It  would  be  much  better,  as  she  truly  thought,  to  marry 
Conniston,  even  though  lie  was  the  poorest  of  peers. 
One  can  do  a  lot  with  a  title  even  without  money,  and 


224  llic  Red  Window 

Lucy  was  wise  in  her  generation.  Moreover,  she  was 
truly  in  love  with  the  young  man,  and  thought,  very 
rightly,  that  he  would  make  her  a  good  husband. 

As  usual,  Conniston,  having  taken  into  his  head  that 
Lucy  would  be  an  ideal  mf  e,  pursued  his  suit  with  cha  r- 
acteristic  impetuosity.  He  came  over  daily — or  almost 
daily — to  Gore  Hall,  and,  finally,  when  Lucy  broke  off 
her  engagement  to  Beryl,  he  told  her  of  the  where- 
abouts of  Bernard.  Lucy  was  overwhelmed  and  de- 
lighted. 

"  To  think  that  he  should  be  alive  after  all,"  she  said. 
"  I  am  so  pleased,  so  glad.  Dear  Bernard,  now  he  will 
be  able  to  enjoy  the  fortune  and  the  title,  and  marry 
Alice." 

"  You  forget,"  said  Conniston,  a  trifle  dryly,  "  Ber- 
nard has  yet  to  prove  his  innocence.  We  are  all  trying 
to  help  him.  Will  you  also  give  a  hand,  Miss  Ran- 
dolph?" 

Lucy  stared  at  him  "with  mdely-open  e,yes.  "  Of 
course  I  will.  Lord  Conniston,"  she  said  heartily. 
What  do  you  wish  me  to  do? " 

"  In  the  first  place,  tell  me  if  you  sent  a  boy  to  bring 
Bernard  to  Crimea  Square?  " 

"  No.  I  know  the  boy  you  mean.  He  is  a  lad  called 
Jerry  Moon.  Julius  found  him  selling  matches  in  town, 
ragged  and  poor.  He  helped  him,  and  the  other  day  he 
procured  him  a  situation  with  Miss  Berengaria." 

"  He  is  there  now.  But  he — we  have  reason  to  be- 
lieve— is  the  bov  who  lured  Bernard  to  Crimea 
Square." 

"  I  know  nothing  about  that,"  said  Lucy,  frankly. 
"  Why  not  ask  the  boy  himself?    It  would  be  easy." 

"  We  will  ask  the  boy  shortly,"  replied  Conniston, 


The  Diary  225 


evasively,  not  wishing  at  this  juncture  to  tell  her  that 
the  great  object  of  everyone  was  to  prevent  Jerry  think- 
ing he  was  suspected.  "  Should  you  meet  the  boy  say 
nothing  to  him." 

"  I  will  not,  and  I  am  not  likely  to  meet  the  boy. 
He  is  usually  in  Miss  Plantagenet's  poultry  yard,  and 
I  rarely  go  round  there."  Lucy  paused.  "  It  is  strange 
that  the  boy  should  act  like  that.  I  wonder  if  Sir  Simon 
sent  him  to  fetch  Bernard,  and  arranged  the  Red 
Window  as  a  sign  which  house  it  was?  " 

"  The  Eed  Window.  Ah  yes!  Mrs.  Webber  saw  the 
light,  and " 


"  And  Julius  afterwards  didn't.  I  know  that.  It 
was  my  fault.  When  we  drove  up  in  the  carriage  on 
that  terrible  night  I  saw  the  Red  Light,  and  wondered 
if  Sir  Simon  had  arranged  it  as  a  sign  to  Bernard. 
When  I  saw  Bernard  in  the  hall  I  was  not  astonished, 
for  I  thought  he  had  come  in  answer  to  the  light.  I 
went  upstairs,  and  after  attending  to  Sir  Simon,  I  went 
to  the  window.  The  lamp  was  before  it,  and  stretched 
across  the  pane  was  a  red  bandanna  handkerchief  of  Sir 
Simon's.  I  took  that  away,  so  you  see  how  it  was  Julius 
did  not  see  the  light." 

"  Why  did  you  remove  the  handkerchief?  "  asked  the 
puzzled  Conniston. 

"  Well,  I  wanted  to  save  Bernard  if  possible,  and  I 
thought  if  the  Red  Light  which  had  drawn  him  were 
removed,  he  could  make  some  excuse.  Julius  knew 
about  the  Red  Light,  and,  as  he  hated  Bernard,  I 
fancied  he  would  use  it  against  him.  But  really," 
added  Miss  Randolph,  Avrinkling  her  pretty  brows,  *'  I 
hardly  knew  what  I  was  doing,  save  that  in  some  vague 
way  I  fancied  the  removal  of  the  handkerchief  might 
help  Bernard.    Is  that  clear?  " 


226  The  Red  Windoxv 

"  Perfectly  clear,"  said  Conniston,  "  and  I  am  glad  I 
know  this.    May  I  tell  Bernard  and  Durham?  " 

"  Certainly.  I  want  to  do  all  I  can  to  help  Ber- 
nard." 

"•  Ah,  you  are  a  good  woman,"  said  Conniston, 
eagerly.    "  I  wonder  if  you  could  make  a  chap  good?  " 

"  It  depends  upon  the  chap,"  said  Lucy,  shyly. 

"  I  know  a  chap  who " 

"  Please  stop.  Lord  Conniston,"  cried  Lucy,  starting 
up  in  confusion.  "  I  have  heaps  and  heaps  to  do.  You 
prevent  my  working." 

Her  hurried  flight  prevented  Conniston  from  putting 
the  question  on  that  occasion.  But  he  was  not  daunted. 
He  resolved  to  propose  as  soon  as  possible.  But  Lucy 
thought  he  was  making  love  too  ardently,  and  by  those 
arts  known  to  women  alone,  she  managed  to  keep  him 
at  arm's  length.  She  was  anxious  that  Bernard  should 
be  cleared,  that  he  should  take  up  his  rightful  position, 
and  should  receive  back  the  Hall  from  her,  before  Lord 
Conniston  proposed.  Of  course,  Lucy  was  ready  to 
accept  him,  but,  sure  of  her  fish,  she  played  with  him 
until  such  time  as  she  felt  disposed  to  accept  his  hand 
and  heart  and  title  and  what  remained  of  the  West 
fortune.  Conniston,  more  determined  than  ever  to  win 
this  adorable  woman,  came  over  regularly.  But  Lucy 
skilfully  kept  him  off  the  dangerous  ground,  whereby  he 
fell  deeper  in  love  than  ever.  Then  one  day,  she  ap- 
peared with  a  blue-covered  book,  the  contents  of  which 
60  startled  them  that  love-making  was  postponed  to  a 
more  convenient  season. 

"  Fancy,"  said  Lucy,  running  to  meet  Conniston  one 
afternoon  as  soon  as  he  appeared  at  the  drawing-room 
door,  "  I  have  found  the  diary  of  Mrs.  Gilroy." 


The  Diary  227 


"  That's  a  good  tbing,"  said  Conniston,  eagerly. 
"  She  knows  more  of  the  truth  than  anyone  else.  We 
must  read  her  diary." 

"  Will  that  he  honorable?  "  said  Lucy,  retaining  her 
hold  of  the  book. 

"  Perfectly.  One  does  not  stand  on  ceremony  when 
a  man's  neck  is  at  stake.  Mrs.  Gilroy's  diary  may  save 
Bernard's  life.  She  knew  too  much  about  the  murder, 
and  fled  because  she  thought  Durham  would  come  and 
question  her.'' 

"  Oh!     Was  that  why  she  ran  away?  " 

"  Yes!  A  woman  like  Mrs.  Gilroy  does  not  take  such 
a  course  for  nothing.    She's  a  clever  woman." 

"  And  a  very  disagreeable  woman,"  said  Lucy,  em- 
phatically.    "  But  what  did  she  know?  " 

Conniston  wriggled  uneasily.  E[e  was  not  quite  cer- 
tain whether  he  ought  to  tell  Lucy  all  that  had  been 
discovered,  and,  had  he  not  been  in  love  with  her,  he 
would  probably  have  held  his  tongue.  But,  after  some 
reflection,  he  decided  to  speak  out.  "  You  are,  of 
course,  on  Bernard's  side,"  he  said. 

"  Yes.  And  against  Julius,  who  hates  Bernard.  I 
will  do  anything  I  can  to  help  Bernard.  I  am  sure  you 
can  see  that,"  she  added  in  a  most  reproachful  manner. 

"  I  know — I  know.  You  are  the  truest  and  best 
woman  in  the  world,"  said  Conniston,  eagerly,  "  but 
what  I  have  to  tell  you  is  not  my  own  secret.  It  con- 
cerns Bernard." 

"  Then  don't  tell  me,"  said  Lucy,  coloring  angrily. 

"  Yes,  I  will.  You  have  the  diary  and  I  want  to  read 
it.  To  know  why  I  do,  it  is  necessary  that  you  should 
learn  all  that  we  have  discovered." 

''  What  have  you  discovered?  AYho  killed  Sir 
Simon? " 


228  The  Red  Window 

"  No.  We  are  trying  to  Inmt  down  the  assassin.  And 
Mrs.  Gilroy's  diary  may  tell  us." 

"  I  don't  see  that." 

"  You  will,  when  you  learn  what  I  have  to  say."  And 
Conniston  related  everything  concerning  the  false  mar- 
riage and  the  half-Lrother  of  young  Gore.  "  And  now, 
you  see,"  he  finished  triumphantly,  "  Mrs.  Gilroy  is 
fighting  for  her  son.  It  is  probable  that  she  has  set 
down  the  events  of  that  night  in  her  diary." 

"  She  would  not  be  such  a  fool,  if  her  son  is  guilty." 

"  Oh,  people  do  all  manner  of  queer  things.  Crim- 
inals who  are  very  secretive  in  speech  sometimes  give 
themselves  away  in  writing.  You  were  at  the  theatre 
on  that  night?  " 

"  Yes,  with  Julius;  so  neither  of  us  had  anything  to 
do  with  the  matter,  if  that  is  what  you  mean." 

"  I  mean  nothing  of  the  sort,"  said  Conniston, 
quickly.     "  How  can  you  think  I  should  suspect  you?  " 

"  You  might  suspect  Julius,"  said  Lucy,  suspiciously, 
"  and  although  we  have  quarrelled  I  don't  want  to  harm 
him." 

"  Would  you  rather  have  Bernard  hanged?  " 

"  Oh!  "  Lucy  burst  into  tears  and  unpulsively  threw 
the  book  into  Conniston's  lap.  "Read  it  at  once;  I 
would  rather  save  Bernard  than  Julius." 

Conniston  availed  himself  of  this  permission  at  once. 
He  took  away  the  diary  with  Lucy's  permission,  and 
carried  it  in  triumph  to  the  castle.  Here  he  and  Ber- 
nard sat  down  to  master  its  contents.  These  astonished 
them  considerably.  Conniston  made  out  a  short  and 
concise  account  of  the  events  of  that  fatal  night,  for 
the  benefit  of  Durham.    They  were  as  follows: 

Mrs.   Gdlroy,  it    appears,   thought    that    her  son, 


The  Diary  229 


Michael,  was  reallj  and  truly  in  America.  She  had  no 
suspicion  that  the  lover  of  Jane  Kiordan  was  her  son, 
but  truly  believed  from  the  description  that  he  was 
young  Gore  whom  she  hated — as  she  plainly  stated  in 
several  pages.  When  the  presumed  Bernard  went  away 
before  six,  he  did  not  call  again  at  ten  o'clock.  The 
man  that  called,  Mrs.  Gilroy  asserted,  was  Bernard,  and 
not  her  son.  He  saw  Sir  Simon  and  after  a  stormy 
interview  he  departed. 

''Why  then  doesn't  she  accuse  me  of  the  crime?" 
said  Gore. 

"  Wait  a  bit,"  said  Conniston,  who  was  reading  his 
precis.  "  This  diary  is  meant  for  her  eye  alone.  Still, 
she  may  have  thought  it  might  fall  into  the  hands  of 
another  person,  and  therefore  made  her  son  safe. 
Michael  called  before  ten — for  then,  Bernard,  vou  were 
with  Durham  and  myself.  Michael  saw  Sir  Simon,  and 
then  Mrs.  Gilroy,  pretending  the  man  was  you,  says  he 
departed,  leaving  your  grandfather  alive.  See!  here's 
the  bit,"  and  he  read,  "  Sir  Simon  was  alive  after  Mr. 
Gore  left  the  house." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Bernard.  "  If  I  am  innocent,  why  did 
she  accuse  me  ?  " 

"  Because  I  believe  her  son  is  guilty.  He  left  Sir 
Simon  dead.  Mrs.  Gilroy  found  the  body,  knew  what 
had  occurred,  and  then  ran  out  on  hearing  Jerry's 
whistle  knowing  she  would  meet  you.    It's  all  plain." 

"  Very  plain,"  said  Gore,  emphatically.  "  A  regular 
trap.    Go  on." 

"  Afterwards,  and  shortly  before  a  quarter  past  ten, 
there  came  a  ring  at  the  door.  Mrs.  Gilroy  went,  and 
there  she  found  Sig-nor  Tolomeo,  who  asked  to  see  Sir 
Simon.  She  took  him  up  the  stairs,  and  left  him  to 
speak  with  Sir  Simon.    What  took  place  she  did  not 


230  The  Red  Window 

know,  but  she  was  sitting  below  working,  and  heard  the 
door  close.  It  was  just  before  a  quarter  to  eleven  that 
she  heard  this." 

"  About  the  time  I  came,"  muttered  Bernard. 

Mrs.  Gilroy — as  appeared  from  the  diary — ran  up  to 
see  if  the  master  was  all  right.  She  found  him 
strangled,  and  with  the  handkerchiefs  tied  over  his 
mouth  and  round  his  neck.  Then  she  ran  out  and  found 
Gore  at  the  door.  He  had  come  back  again,  and  Mrs. 
Gilroy  said  she  accused  him.  She  then  stated  in  her 
diary  that  she  looked  upon  Bernard  as  an  accessory 
after  the  fact.  He  had  hired  Guiseppe  Tolomeo  to  kill 
his  grandfather,  and  then  came  to  see  if  the  deed  had 
been  executed  thoroughly.  Mrs.  Gilroy  ended  her  diary 
by  stating  that  she  would  do  her  best  to  get  both  the 
Italian  and  his  nephew  hanged. 

"  Very  much  obliged  to  her,"  said  Bernard,  when 
Conniston  concluded  reading,  and  beginning  to  walk  to 
and  fro.  "  "Well,  it  seems  my  uncle  is  the  guilty  per- 
son, Conniston." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Dick,  firmly.  "  Mrs.  Gilroy 
is  trying  to  shield  her  son.    I  believe  he  killed  him." 

"  If  we  could  only  find  Michael,"  said  Bernard,  dole- 
fully. 

"  Ah !  Things  would  soon  be  put  right  then,"  replied 
Conniston,  and  neither  was  aware  that  the  man  they 
^\^shed  to  see  was  at  that  very  moment  lying  in  the 
turret  chamber  at  the  Bower,  "  or  even  Mrs.  Gilroy. 
Could  we  see  her,  and  show  her  the  diary,  she  might  put 
things  straight." 

"  I  believe  she  left  the  diary  behind  on  purpose,"  said 
Gore,  with  some  ill-humor.  "  I  can't  believe  that  Tolo- 
meo killed  Sir  Simon." 

"  What  kind  of  man  is  he?  " 


The  Diary  231 


"  A  very  decent  chap  in  his  own  way.  His  blood  is 
hot,  and  he  has  a  temper  something  like  the  one  I  have 
inherited  from  my  mother,  who  was  Guiseppe's  sister. 
But  Tolomeo  is  not  half  bad.  He  has  the  credit  for 
being  a  scamp,  but  I  don't  think  he  deserves  it." 

"  Can't  you  see  him  and  show  him  the  diary?  " 

"  ]^o.  I  don't  know  his  whereabouts.  However, 
Durham,  at  my  request,  has  put  an  advertisement  in  the 
papers  which  may  bring  him  to  the  oflSce,  then  we  can 
see  how  much  of  this  story  is  true.  Certainly,  Mrs. 
Gilroy  may  have  seen  him  at  the  house  on  that  night." 

"  What  would  he  go  for?  " 

"  To  ask  my  grandfather  for  money.  He  was  always 
hard  up.  Sir  Simon  hated  him,  but  if  Guiseppe  was 
hard  up  he  wouldn't  mind  that.  I  daresay  Tolomeo  did 
see  Sir  Simon,  and  did  have  a  row,  as  both  he  and  grand- 
father were  hot-blooded.  But  I  don't  believe  my  uncle 
killed  Sir  Simon,"  said  Bernard,  striking  the  table. 

"  Well,"  drawled  Conniston,  slipping  his  precis  and 
the  diary  itself  into  an  envelope,  "  I  don't  see  what  he 
had  to  gain.  Tolomeo,  from  your  account  of  him, 
would  not  commit  a  murder  without  getting  some 
money  from  doing  it.  But  the  best  thing  to  doj  is  to 
take  this  up  to  Durham  and  see  what  he  thinks." 

"  I'll  come  too,"  said  Gore,  excitedly.  "  I  tell  you, 
Dick,  I'm  dead  tired  of  doing  nothing.  It  will  be  better 
to  do  what  Miss  Berengaria  suggests  and  give  myself 
up." 

"  Wait  a  bit,"  persuaded  Dick.  "  Let  me  take  this  up 
to  Durham,  and  if  he  agrees  you  can  be  arrested." 

Bernard  was  unwilling  to  wait,  but  finally  he  yielded 
sullenly  to  Conniston's  arguments.  Dick  with  the  pre- 
cious parcel  went  up  to  to\vn  alone,  and  Bernard  did 
what  he  could  to  be  patiei^t, 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


TOLOMEO'S    STOKY 


Durham  was  much  excited  when  he  read  the  account 
which  Conniston  had  extracted  from  Mrs.  Gih'oy's 
diary.  However,  he  declined  to  give  an  opinion  until 
he  read  the  diary  itself.  He  then  told  Dick  that  the  dis- 
covery had  been  made  in  the  nick  of  time. 

"  The  Italian  is  coming  to  see  me  to-morrow,"  he 
said,  showing  a  letter.  "  I  advertised  that  he  would 
hear  of  something  to  his  advantage  if  he  called,  as  Ber- 
nard wants  to  help  him.  When  he  comes,  you  ma}'  be 
sure  that  I  shall  get  the  truth  out  of  him." 

"  Do  you  think  he's  guilty,  Mark?  " 

"  It  is  hard  to  say,"  replied  Durham,  shaking  his 
head.  "  The  whole  case  is  so  mixed  that  one  doesn't 
know  who  is  guilty  or  innocent." 

"  Save  Bernard,"  put  in  Conniston,  lighting  a  cigar- 
ette. 

"  Certainh'.  However,  we  may  learn  something  of 
the  truth  from " 

"  Not  Mrs.  Gilroy,"  said  Conniston  quickly,  "  unless 
you  have  succeeded  in  finding  her." 

"  'No,  I  have  not  been  so  lucky.  She  has  vanished 
altogether.    But  Beryl  may  be  able  to  tell  something." 

"  But  he  won't." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that.  We  have  Jerry  in  our 
hands,  and  that  young  scamp  is  in  the  employment  of 
Beryl.    He  will  have  to  explain  how  the  boj  came  to 


Tolomeo's  Story  233 


lure  Bernard  to  Crimea  Square  in  time  to  be  accused." 

"  Why  not  ask  Jerry?  " 

"  Because  Jerry  would  immediately  run  away.  ISTo, 
I'll  wait.  Perhaps  Michael  may  speak  out.  He's  ill 
enough." 

"  Michael? "  echoed  Conniston  in  amazement. 
"What  of  him?" 

"  Oh,  the  dickens!  "  said  Durham  in  quite  an  unpro- 
fessional way,  and  stood  up  to  warm  himself  at  the  fire 
in  his  favorite  attitude.  "  I  didn't  intend  to  tell  you 
that." 

"Tell  me  what?" 

"  That  we  had  caught  Michael  Gilroy,  or  Gore,  or 
whatever  he  chooses  to  call  himself." 

"  Have  you  caught  him?    Well,  I'm  hanged!  " 

"  I  hope  he  won't  be,"  said  Durham,  grimly.  I  did 
not  catch  him  mvself.  He  came  one  niaht  last  week 
to  the  Bower  to  see  Miss  Malleson." 

Conniston  jumped  up  mth  an  exclamation,  "  That 
is  playing  a  daring  game,"  he  said.  "  Why,  the  fellow 
must  know  that  she  would  spot  him." 

Durham  pinched  his  chin  and  eyed  Conniston.  "  I 
can't  understand  what  his  game  is  myself,"  he  said 
slowly.  "  Of  course,  so  far  as  looks  go,  the  fellow  is  the 
double  of  Bernard  without  the  distinguishing  mark  of 
the  mole." 

"  You  have  seen  him  then?  " 

'  'Yes.  A  day  or  two  ago.  I  asked  Miss  Plantagenet 
to  pretend  that  she  and  Miss  Malleson  believed  him  to 
be  Bernard.  They  have  done  so  with  such  success  that 
the  boy — he  is  no  more,  being  younger  than  Bernard — 
is  lying  in  bed  in  the  turret-room  quite  under  the  im- 
pression that  he  has   bamboozled    the  lot  of  us.     Of 


234  The  Red  Window 

course,"  added  Durham,  looking  down,  "  he  may  be 
trusting  to  his  illness  to  still  further  increase  the  like- 
ness to  Bernard,  which,  I  may  say,  is  sufficiently  start- 
ling, and  to  supply  any  little  differences." 

"  That's  all  jolly  fine,"  said  Dick,  getting  astride  of 
a  chair  in  his  excitement,  "  but  Bernard  and  xVlice,  be- 
ing lovers,  must  have  many  things  in  common  about 
which  this  man  can't  know  anything." 

"  Quite  so.  And  Miss  Malleson  knew  he  wasn't  Ber- 
nard, seeing  that  the  real  man  is  at  your  castle.  But 
even  without  that  knowdedge  I  don't  think  she  Avoiild 
long  have  been  deceived.  Michael,  putting  aside  his 
marvellous  resemblance,  is  a  common  sort  of  man  and 
not  at  all  well  educated.  If  you  can  image  Bernard  as 
one  of  the  common  people,  without  education  and  pol- 
ish, vou  have  Michael." 

"  What  a  nerve  that  Michael  must  have.  How  does 
he  carry  it  off?  " 

Durham  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  The  poor  chap  is 
not  in  a  condition  to  carry  off  anything,"  he  said;  ''  he's 
lying  pretty  well  worn  out  in  bed,  and  Payne  says  it  will 
be  a  long  time  before  he  is  himself.  I  think  he  is  simply 
pleased  to  know  he  has  been  accepted  as  Bernard,  and 
is  glad  to  postpone  an  explanation  in  case  he'll  be  turned 
out." 

"  There's  no  danger  of  that,"  said  Dick.  "  My  aunt 
w' ouldn't  turn  out  a  cat  in  that  state,  much  less  a  human 
being." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Berengaria  seems  to  have  taken  quite  a 
fancy  to  the  man.  She  declares  there's  pluck  in  him, 
and " 

"  But  seeing  he  is  a  criminal — a  murderer " 

"  We  don't  know  that  he  is,  Conniston,  and  this  " — 


Tolomeo's  Story  235 


Durham  laid  his  hand  on  the  diary — "  goes  to  prove  his 
innocence." 

"  Bosh!  "  said  Dick,  jumping  up.  "  I  believe  Mrs. 
Gilroy  prepared  that  diary  and  left  it  out  so  that  Miss 
Randolph  would  drop  across  it.  If  anyone  killed  Sir 
Simon  it  was  Michael." 

"  Or  Beryl." 

"  He  was  at  the  theatre." 

"  I  know,  but  he  managed  to  get  the  deed  done  by 
someone  else.  I  really  can't  give  an  opinion  yet,  Con- 
niston,"  said  Durham  resuming  his  seat,  with  a  shrug; 
"  to-morrow,  when  I  see  this  Italian,  I  may  learn  some- 
thing likely  to  throw  light  on  the  case.  Meantime  go 
back  and  tell  Bernard  I  am  working  hard." 

"  That  goes  without  the  speaking,"  said  his  lordship, 
lightly;  "  we  know  what  a  worker  you  are,  Mark.  But 
Bernard  wishes  to  take  a  hand  in  the  game." 

"  Then  he  shall  not  do  so,"  said  Durham,  sharply. 
"  If  he  appears  at  this  juncture  all  will  be  lost.  I  have 
a  plan,"  he  added,  hesitating. 

"  What  is  it?  "  demanded  the  curious  Conniston. 

"  Never  you  mind  just  now.  It  has  to  do  with  Mrs. 
Gilroy  being  drawn  from  her  hiding-place.  I'll  tell  you 
what  it  is  after  I  have  seen  Tolomeo.  But  the  success 
of  ni}^  plan  depends  upon  Bernard  keeping  in  the  back- 
ground.   If  you  tell  him  about  Michael " 

"  He'll  be  over  like  a  shot.  And  after  all,  Mark,  it's 
not  pleasant  to  think  a  feilow  is  masquerading  as  you 
with  the  girl  you  love." 

"  Bernard  must  put  up  with  that,"  snapped  Durham, 
who  was  getting  cross.  ''  His  neck  depends  upon  my 
management  of  this  affair.  Should  he  go  to  Ilursetou 
he  will  be  recognized  by  everyone,  let  alone  Jerry,  who 


236  The  Red  Window 

would  at  once  tell  Beryl.    You  know  what  that  means." 

"  I  know  that  Beryl  is  playing  for  a  big  stake  he 
won't  land/'  said  Conniston,  grimly,  and  walked  to- 
wards the  door.  "  All  right,  Mark,  I'll  sit  on  Bernard 
and  keep  him  quiet.  But,  I  say,  I  want  to  tell  you  I 
am  in  love  with " 

"  Conniston,  I  will  certainly  throw  something  at  your 
head  if  you  don't  clear.  I  have  enough  to  do  without 
listening  to  your  love " 

"  Kot  mine.  She  is — well  there,  I  daresay  your 
nerves  are  thin.  I  do  wish  all  this  business  was  ended. 
You  used  to  be  no  end  of  a  chap,  and  now  you  are  as 
cross  as  a  battery  mule  and  twice  as  obstinate." 

Lord  Conniston  talked  himself  out  of  the  oflfice,  and 
went  down  to  Cove  Castle  by  a  later  train.  Here  he 
managed  to  pacify  the  impatient  Bernard,  no  easy  task. 
But  the  lessons  of  that  week  taught  Dick  patience,  a 
quality  he  had  always  sadly  lacked. 

True  to  the  appointment  made  by  letter,  Signor  Tolo- 
meo  appeared  at  Durham's  office  and  was  at  once  shown 
in.  He  was  a  tall  man  with  a  keen,  clever,  dark  face. 
His  hair  and  mustache  were  gray  and  he  had  a  military 
appearance.  In  his  bearing  there  was  great  dignity, 
and  it  could  be  seen  at  a  glance  that  he  had  good  blood 
in  his  veins.  It  was  true  what  Sir  Simon  had  said. 
The  Tolomeo  family  had  been  nobles  of  the  Sieneso 
Republic  for  many  a  century,  and  although  their  pres- 
ent-day representative  was  poor  in  pocket  and  played 
the  violin  for  a  living,  yet  he  looked  a  great  lord.  But 
his  dark  eyes  had  a  somewhat  reckless  expression  in 
them,  which  showed  that  Tolomeo  lacked  what  is  called 
moral  principle. 

Piirham  received  him  politely  and  indicated  a  seat 


Tolomeo's  Story  237 


near  his  desk  with  a  smile.  Tolomeo,  with  great  cour- 
tesy, bowed  and  sat  down.  Then  he  fixed  his  large  eyes 
on  the  lawyer  with  an  inquiring  air,  but  was  too  astute 
to  say  anything.  He  had  been  brought  here  on  an  er- 
rand, the  purport  of  which  he  knew  nothing;  therefore 
he  waited  to  hear  what  Durham  had  to  say  before  he 
committed  himself. 

"  Signor  Tolomeo,"  said  the  lawyer,  "  you  were  sur- 
prised to  see  my  advertisement?  " 

"  I  was  indeed,"  replied  the  Italian,  who  spoke  ex- 
cellent English.  "  Our  last  interview  was  not  partic- 
ularly pleasant." 

"  This  may  be  still  less  so,"  rejoined  Durham,  dryly; 
"  but  as  it  concerns  your  nephew  Bernard,  perhaps  you 
will  be  frank  with  me." 

"  Ah,  poor  Bernard!  "  said  the  uncle.    "  He  is  dead." 

"Ko.    He  is  alive." 

"  Gran  Dio!"  Tolomeo  started  from  his  seat  in  a 
somewhat  theatrical  manner.  "  What  is  this  you  say, 
signor « 

"  I  say  that  he  is  alive,  but  in  hiding.  I  tell  you  this 
because  I  know  you  like  Bernard  and  appreciate  his 
kindness  to  you." 

"  Yes!  The  boy  is  a  good  boy.  He  has  been  very 
kind  to  me.  Although,"  added  Tolomeo,  with  a  some- 
what cynical  air,  "  I  do  not  deserve  it.  Ah,  signor,  the 
want  of  monov  makes  us  all  sad  rascals." 

"  That  depends  upon  ourselves,"  said  Durham,  some- 
what stiffly.    "  No  man  need  be  a  rascal  unless  he  likes." 

"  Money  can  make  a  good  man  or  a  bad  one,"  insisted 
the  Italian. 

"  I  don't  agree  with  yovi.  But  this  is  not  what  I  wish 
to  talk  about,  Signor  Tolomeo.  You  are  pleased  that 
Bernard  is  alive." 


238  The  Red  JVmdow 

"  Very  pleased.    But  I  trust  he  will  escape," 

"  Ah!    Then  you  believe  he  is  guilty  of  the  crime." 

"  He — or  the  other  one." 

"What  other  one?"  asked  Durham,  sharply. 

Tolomeo  looked  directly  at  the  lawyer.  "  Before  I 
speak  out/'  he  said,  "  it  will  set  my  mind  at  rest  to  know 
what  you  mean." 

"  Does  that  hint  you  want  money?  " 

"  ]\roney  is  always  a  good  thing,  and  I  need  it  badly," 
said  Guiseppe  shrugging,  "  but,  as  this  regards  my  own 
nephew,  I  am  willing  to  aid  him  without  money.  I 
loved  my  sister,  his  mother,  and  she  was  badly  treated 
by  that  old  man!  "  Tolomeo's  eyes  flashed.  "He  in- 
sulted her,  and  we — the  Tolomeo  nobles — were  great 
lords  in  Siena  when  your  England  was  wild  forest  and 
savage  peoples." 

"  Did.  you  tell  Sir  Simon  this  when  you  saw  him  on 
that  night?" 

The  Italian  started  up  in  some  alarm.  "  What?  You 
say  I  was  with  this  English  miser  when  he  died?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  say  that.  But  I  say  you  were  at  the 
house  on  that  very  night,  and  about  the  time  the  mur- 
der was  committed.  For  all  I  know,  signor,  you  may 
be  able  to  say  who  killed  him." 

Guiseppe,  twisting  his  hat  in  his  hands,  looked  keenly 
at  Durham  with  his  dark  eyes.  "  Signor,  be  explicit," 
he  said. 

"  I'll  explain  myself  thoroughly,"  said  Durham. 
"  You  can  sit  down  again,  signor.  Bernard,"  he  con- 
tinued, when  the  Italian  obeyed  this  request,  "  inherits 
his  grandfather's  property,  and,  of  course  the  title. 
He  wants  to  help  you,  and  proposes  to  give  you  five 
hundred  a  year  as  soon  as  possible.'' 


Tolomeo's  Story  239 

"All!  That  is  good  of  him,"  said  Tolomeo,  grate- 
fully. 

"  But,"  went  on  Durham,  with  emphasis,  "  Bernard 
cannot  give  you  this  income  until  he  is  formally  put  in 
possession  of  the  estate;  and  he  cannot  take  possession 
of  the  estate  until  he  is  cleared  from  this  charge  of 
murder.    ISTow  you  can  help  me  to  clear  him." 

"  Signor,"  said  the  Italian  at  once,  "  I  thought  Ber- 
nard was  dead;  that,  as  the  papers  said,  he  had  been 
drowned  crossing  the  river.  But  now  that  I  know  he 
is  alive,  you  can  command  my  services  without  money. 
All  the  same,"  added  Tolomeo,  smiling  and  showing  his 
white  teeth,  "  a  little  five  hundred  a  year  will  make  me 
a  great  lord  in  Siena,  to  which  town  I  shall  return." 

"  After  helping  Bernard?  "  warned  Durham. 

"  Of  course.  I  will  not  leave  the  country  till  Ber- 
nard is  seated  in  his  proper  place,  and  married — I 
understand  he  is  to  be  married." 

"  I  believe  so.  But  he  must  first  be  able  to  face  his 
fellow-men  in  safety,"  said  the  lawyer,  quickly.  "  JSTow, 
signor,  you  admit  that  you  were  at  the  house  in  Crimea: 
Square  on  that  night." 

"  Yes,  why  not?  I  went  to  see  Sir  Simon.  I  walked 
to  the  Hall  in  Essex  to  see  him.  He  had  gone  to  town ; 
I  found  out  where^  and  I  came  back  to  see  him.  On 
that  night  I  went  some  time  before  ten  o'clock." 

"  I  know  that,"  said  Durham.  "  Mrs.  Gilroy  ad- 
mitted you.  She  says  she  took  you  up  to  Sir  Simon,  and 
that  you  quarrelled  with  him." 

"  It  is  true,  we  had  words." 

"  And  then  you  left  the  house  without  seeing  her. 
Behind  you,  according  to  Mrs.  Gilroy,  you  left  the  dead 
body  of  Sir  Simon." 


240  The  Red  Window 

Tolomeo  started  up  as  tlioiigli  about  to  run  away,  but 
immediately  afterwards  sat  down.  *'  I  don't  suppose 
you  have  called  me  here  to  make  an  arrest,  signor,"  he 
said.  "  I  am  innocent,  but  I  admit  that  I  thought  there 
might  be  trouble  should  it  be  known  I  was  in  that  house 
on  the  night.  I  therefore  kept  silent.  But  now  I  know 
that  my  nephew  is  alive  and  accused  of  the  crime,  I  will 
speak  out.  It  was  Mrs.  Gilroy  who  admitted  me,  but  it 
was  not  Mrs.  Gilroy  who  let  me  out.  I  left  Sir  Simon 
perfectly  well  when  we  parted,  and  he  promised  to  help 
me  the  next  day." 

"  Oh!    And  the  next  day  you  heard  of  his  death?  " 

"  ISTo,  I  heard  of  his  death  on  that  night.  I  was  hang- 
ing about  the  house  when  Bernard  escaped.  I  picked 
up — but  I  will  tell  you  that  later,  signor,  listen  to  my 
tale — it  is  strange  but  true.  Set  down  what  I  say,  for 
this  I  am  prepared  to  swear  to  in  a  court  of  law.  I 
should  have  seen  you  before  and  spoken  had  I  known 
that  Bernard  was  alive,  but  thinking  he  was  dead  I  did 
not  talk  as  I  fancied  there  might  be  danger  to  me." 

"  There  is  danger  if  what  Mrs.  Gilroy  declares  is 
true." 

"  Confront  her  with  me.    What  does  she  say?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  where  she  is,"  confessed  Durham, 
and  related  how  the  diarv  had  been  found,  and  ex- 
plained  the  contents  so  far  as  they  bore  on  the  accusa- 
tion of  Tolomeo.     He  listened  attentively. 

"  Oh,  what  a  wicked  woman!  "  he  said  vehemently 
when  Durham  ended.  "  I  do  assure  you,  signor,  that 
I  am  innocent.  Listen!  I  called  to  see  Sir  Simon  be- 
fore ten  on  that  night.  I  sent  up  my  name.  The 
woman  you  speak  of  brought  back  a  message  that  her 
master  would  see  me." 


Tolomco^s  Story  241 


"  One  moment,"  put  in  Durham.  "  Did  you  see  a 
red  light  in  the  window?  " 

"  Yes.  There  was  a  lamp  near  the  window  although 
the  room  was  lighted  with  electric  lamps.  A  red  hand- 
kerchief was  stretched  across  the  window.  But  I  know 
of  the  Red  Window  at  the  Hall,"  said  the  Italian,  with 
a  shrug.  "  My  sister  used  to  signal  to  me.  I  guessed 
that  Sir  Simon  was  making  a  signal  to  Bernard." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  that?  " 

"  He  told  me  so  himself,"  said  Tolomeo,  quietly, 
"  and  it  was  because  he  thought  I  might  know  where 
Bernard  was  that  he  saw  me.  He  said  he  would  for- 
give Bernard  and  help  me.  We  had  some  words,  as  he 
called  me — a  Tolomeo — names  which  I  could  not  hear 
quietly.  But  afterwards  he  said  he  would  help  me,  and 
then  he  wanted  to  see  Bernard.  Miss  Randolph  told 
him  of  the  use  she  had  made  of  the  Red  Window,  so  in 
this  London  house  he  did  the  same  thing,  hoping-  that 
Bernard  mia;ht  see  the  light  and  enter.  If  Bernard 
had,"  said  the  Italian,  with  great  earnestness,  "  all 
would  have  been  well." 

"  Do  you  know  if  Sir  Simon  sent  a  boy  to  bring  Ber- 
nard? " 

"  ]^o.  I  do  not  know.  Sir  Simon  said  nothing  of 
that.  He  only  put  the  lamp  behind  the  handkerchief 
in  the  hope  that  Bernard  might  come  to  the  house.  For 
all  he  know  Bernard  might  have  learned  where  he  was 
staying.  I  think  the  old  man  was  sorry  he  quarrelled 
with  my  poor  nephew,"  said  Tolomeo,  with  earnestness. 

"  Well,  after  arranging  this  you  left  Sir  Simon?  " 

"  Not  immediately.  Mrs.  Gilroy  came  in  and  said 
that  someone  wanted  to  see  Sir  Simon.  He  heard  her 
whisper  to  him,  and  said  I  could  go  away,  telling  Mrs. 


242  The  Red  JF'indow 

Gilroj  to  send  up  the  stranger.  She  went  away.  I  fol- 
lowed, and  opened  the  door  myself." 

"  The  front  door?  " 

"  Yes.  But  when  I  was  going  out  I  heard  Sir  Simon 
call  over  the  stairs.  He  asked  me  to  return.  I  closed 
the  door  and  did  so." 

"  Ah!  "  said  Durham,  making  a  note.  "  Mrs.  Gilroy 
thought  you  had  left  the  house.  She  said  so  in  her 
diary.    The  she  came  upstairs?  " 

"  'No"  said  Tolomeo,  "  she  did  not.  I  went  back  to 
the  room.  Sir  Simon  said  he  wanted  me  to  be  present, 
as  he  had  a  disagreeable  interview.  He  made  me  hide 
behind  a  curtain.  I  did  so.  Then  the  door  opened  and 
Bernard  entered." 

"  What!  "  Durham  started  from  liis  seat.  "  That's 
impossible." 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  rejoined  the  Italian,  smilingj  "  but 
I  assure  you,  signer,  the  man  who  entered  I  took  to  be 
Bernard.    He  was " 

"  Michael,  the  son  of  Mrs.  Gilroy.    I  know  that." 

"Ah!  And  how?"  asked  Tolomeo,  surprised  and 
rather  vexed.    "  I  hoped  to  astonish  you  by  this." 

"  Well,  it's  a  long  story.  I'll  tell  it  after  you  tell  me 
yours.    Michael  entered  dressed  as  a  soldier." 

"  Yes,"  said  Tolomeo,  more  and  more  surprised  by 
the  extent  of  the  lawyer's  knowledge.  "  I  thought  he 
was  my  nephew  until  I  heard  his  conversation.  Then 
I  knew  that  this  was  Mrs.  Gilroy's  son  and  that  she  had 
been  deceived  by  Walter  Gore  in  a  false  marriage.  Sir 
Simon  told  Michael  that  he  was  tired  of  assisting  him, 
and  accused  him  of  making  love  to  the  housemaid.  The 
boy — he  is  but  a  boy,  signor — acknowledged  this.  Then 
Sir  Simon  said  that  Michael  had  forged  his  name  for 
one  thousand  pounds." 


Tolovieo's  Story  243 


Durham  started  up  again.  "  What!  Ah!  "  he  said. 
"  So  that  was  a  forgery,  and  I  thought  Sir  Simon  gave 
him  the  check.    It  was  honored." 

"  Yes.  Sir  Simon  said  he  knew  it  was  a  forgery,  for 
the  bank  sent  the  check  to  him.  But  he  said  nothing 
about  it  so  as  to  spare  this  Michael.  But  he  said  also 
that  if  Michael  did  not  leave  the  country  he  would 
prosecute  him.  ]\lichael  retorted  and  there  was  a  quar- 
rel. I  thought  he  would  have  struck  the  old  man,  so  I 
came  out.  When  Michael  saw  me  he  grew  pale  and, 
opening  the  door,  ran  downstairs  and  out  into  the  fog. 
I  followed  to  bring  him  back,  as  Sir  Simon  said,  '  Fol- 
low him.'  " 

"  Why  did  Michael  run  away?  " 

"  I  do  not  knoAv.  But  he  did.  I  went  into  the  fog 
and  followed  him  to  the  High  Street.  Then  I  lost  him. 
As  I  turned  out  of  the  square  I  brushed  past  a  man.  It 
was  under  a  lamp-post  and  I  saw  his  face.  He  was  in 
evening  dress  and  was  walking  quickly.  He  entered  the 
house  by  the  door  I  had  left  open." 

"  And  who  was  that?  "  asked  Durham,  curiously. 

"  Julius  Beryl." 

"  Impossible!    He  was  at  the  theatre." 

"  He  was;  but  he  came  back,"  said  Tolomeo,  putting 
his  hand  in  his  pocket.  "  Listen.  I  ran  up  to  the  High 
Street,  but  could  see  nothing  of  Michael.  I  v/alkod 
about  for  long.  Then  I  came  back  before  eleven.  I 
found  the  door  open,  I  saw  Bernard  in  the  hall,  and 
heard  that  he  was  accused.  I  thought  he  was  Michael 
returned.  He  escaped.  I  was  by  the  railings  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  street.  As  he  ran  he  dropped  a 
handkerchief.  See!"  Tolomeo  produced  it.  "It  is 
marked  '  J.  B.'  " 


244  The  Red  JVindow 

Durham  snatched  the  handkerchief.  A  faint  smell  of 
chloroform  lingered  about  it  still.  Beryl's  initials  were 
in  the  corner.     Durham  looked  up  very  pale. 

"  Yes,"  said  Tolomeo,  "  that  man  killed  Sir  Simon." 


CHAPTER  XIX 


PLOTS   AND   COUNTERPLOTS 


On  hearing  from  Tolomeo  that  Beryl  was  flie  guilty 
person,  Durham  was  not  so  surprised  as  he  might  have 
been.  He  had  always  suspected  that  Julius  was  in  some 
way  connected  with  the  crime,  although  he  had  not 
thought  him  personally  guilty.  But  the  story  of 
Guiseppe,  and  the  production  of  the  handkerchief 
marked  with  Beryl's  name  seemed  to  put  the  matter  be- 
yond doubt.  Durham  remembered  how  Conniston  had 
always  said  that  when  the  lost  handkerchief  was  found 
the  assassin  Avould  be  identified.  Apparently  his 
prophecy  had  come  true.  Here  was  the  handkerchief, 
so  fortunately  picked  up  by  Tolomeo,  and  it  belonged 
to  Julius.  Also  Julius,  according  to  the  Italian,  had 
entered  the  house  in  Crimea  Square  about  the  time  the 
murder  was  supposed  to  have  been  committed. 

"  And  there's  no  doubt  that  Beryl  sent  Jerry  for  Ber- 
nard, so  that  he  might  be  brought  to  the  spot  for  accusa- 
tion," thought  the  lawyer  when  Tolomeo  had  gone. 
"  The  whole  thing  was  a  plant.  I  expect  he  arranged 
to  go  to  the  Curtain  Theatre  so  as  to  have  an  alihi.  But 
the  theatre  is  near  Crimea  Square  and  it  would  be  easy 
for  Beryl  to  slip  round  between  the  acts.  Humph!  Evi- 
dently he  did  kill  the  old  man — this  handkerchief  is 
proof  enough,  to  say  nothing  of  Tolomeo's  evidence. 
,What's  to  be  done  next?  " 

The  question  was  answered  next  day  while  Durham 


246  The  Red  Window 

was  still  puzzling  over  the  matter.  Julius  himself  made 
his  appearance,  as  meek-looking  and  mild  as  ever.  The 
law;^'er  received  him  coldly  and  was  on  his  guard.  It 
was  difficult  to  know  why  Beryl  should  pay  a  visit  to  an 
avowed  enemy.  But  Julius  soon  explained  the  reason 
for  his  call. 

"  I  have  something  extremely  private  to  say  to  you, 
Mr.  Durham,"  he  remarked  in  a  confidential  way,  and 
after  assuring  himself  ostentatiously  that  the  door  was 
closed. 

"  I  am  not  your  legal  adviser,"  said  Durham,  quickly. 

"  You  are  Bernard's." 

"  I  was  Bernard's,  you  mean." 

"  Does  that  intimate  that  you  have  quarrelled  with 
Bernard?  " 

"  You  forget,"  said  the  solicitor,  looking  at  him 
sharply.     "  Bernard  is  supposed  to  be  dead." 

"  I  don't  think  you  ever  believed  that,"  said  Beryl, 
smiling. 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  you." 

"  Oh  yes,  it  has.  See  here,  Durham,  I  wrote  to  Miss 
Malleson  some  time  ago,  stating  that  I  had  seen  Ber- 
nard in  London." 

"  So  I  understand,"  said  Durham,  calmly.  "  Why 
did  you  not  stop  him?  " 

"  I  was  not  quick  enough.  He  walked  on  the  other 
side  of  the  street,  and  before  I  could  cross  over,  which 
was  difficult  on  account  of  the  traffic,  Bernard  disap- 
peared. Then  I  was  not  quite  sure  if  he  really  was 
alive.    Now  I  am." 

"Indeed?"  said  Durham,  with  a  qualm,  for  he 
fancied  Julius  might  have  learned  of  Gore's  where- 
abouts. 


Plots  and  Cou7iterj)lots  247 


"  Yes!  That  young  Moon  wrote  a  letter  to  me  say- 
ing that  Bernard  had  come  to  the  Bower,  starving  and 
in  rags." 

It  was  on  the  tip  of  Durham's  tongue  to  say  that  no 
doubt  Jerry  had  been  placed  as  a  spy  at  the  Bower,  but 
he  suppressed  this  remark.  He  firmly  believed  that 
Julius  was  a  murderer,  but  as  yet  he  saw  some  difficulty 
in  bringing  the  crime  home  to  him.  He  thought  it 
would  be  best  to  give  the  man  rope  enough  to  hang  him- 
self. In  other  words,  to  listen  quietly  to  what  he  had 
to  say  and  act  accordingly.  Durham  did  not  like  having 
anything  to  do  \\dth  such  a  scoundrel,  but  in  the  inter- 
ests of  Gore  he  had  to  smother  all  feelings  save  strictly 
professional  ones.  He  therefore  confined  himself  to 
silence,  and  to  looking  inquiringly  at  Beryl. 

"  You  don't  seem  surprised,"  said  Julius,  annoyed. 

"  Because  I  can  hardy  believe  your  statement.  Jerry 
may  be  making  a  mistake." 

"  Oh  no.  I  went  down  on  the  receipt  of  his  letter, 
and  insisted  on  seeing  my  cousin.  Miss  Plantagenet — 
as  I  knew  she  would, — denied  that  he  was  there;  but 
afterwards,  when  I  threatened  to  bring  the  police  on  to 
the  scene,  she  gave  way  and  let  me  see  Bernard." 

"  You  are  sure,  then,  that  Bernard  committed  the 
crime  ?  " 

"  Wait  one  moment,  Mr.  Durham,"  said  Beryl,  wag- 
ging his  finger  in  a  most  irritating  way.  "  Let  us  under- 
stand one  another  clearly.  You  know,  and  you  have 
known  for  some  time,  that  Bernard  was  at  the  Bower?  " 

"  I  am  not  bound  to  answer  that  question,"  said  the 
lawyer,  stifily. 

"  Bernard  answered  it  for  you.  He  told  me  you  had 
been  to  see  him,  and  that  in  spite  of  the  change  in  his 
looks  you  knew  who  he  was." 


248  The  Bed  Window 


Durham  drew  figures  on  his  blotting-paper.  He 
wondered  if  Julius  really  believed  the  man  at  the  Bower 
to  be  Bernard  Gore,  or  if  he  was  trying  to  learn  what 
lie — Durham — thought  himself.  After  some  reflection 
the  lawyer  resolved  to  accept  Michael  as  the  man  in 
question.  Julius  could  not  possibly  know  that  the  real 
Bernard  was  alive,  and  therefore  it  would  be  as  wise 
to  keep  the  knowledge  from  him  until  such  time  as 
light  would  come  to  show  Durham  how  to  move. 
"  Yes,"  he  said  at  length,  throwing  down  his  pen  and 
taking  up  a  position  on  the  hearth-rug.  "  I  was  in- 
formed by  Miss  Plantagenet  that  Bernard  had  sought 
refuge  with  her,  and  I  went  down  to  see  him." 

"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me?  "  asked  Julius,  sharply. 

Durham  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "By  your  own 
showing,  seeing  you  wished  to  call  in  the  police,  you  are 
not  a  friend  to  Bernard,"  he  said.  "  Why  should  I 
have  summoned  you?     To  assist  you  to  arrest  him?  " 

"I  do  not  wish  him  to  be  arrested,"  said  Julius, 
mildly.  "  On  the  contrary,  I  wish  the  poor  fellow  to 
die  in  peace." 

"  To  die — what  do  you  mean?  " 

"  What  I  say,  Mr.  Durham.  Payne  tells  me  that 
Bernard  has  been  so  exhausted  by  his  wandering  when 
in  hiding,  that  he  cannot  recover.  His  death  is  only  a 
question  of  days.  Mind  you" — Julius  wagged  his 
finger  again — "  I  really  believe  he  killed  Sir  Simon,  but 
as  he  is  dying,  why,  I  shall  do  nothing.  I  am  not  a  vin- 
dictive man.  Besides,"  added  Julius,  looking  sideways 
at  the  lawyer,  "  Bernard  and  I  arc  friends  now.  I  am 
also  fi'iendly  with  Miss  Malleson." 

"  Indeed!    And  how  did  you  bring  that  about?  " 

"By   acting  straightforward   and   honorably,   as   I 


Plots  and  Counterplots  249 

always  do/'  said  the  meek  Julius.  "  Miss  Malleson 
acknowledged  to  me  that  Bernard  was  sadllj  changed 
by  the  hardships  he  had  undergone.  All  the  same  she 
recognized  him.  Unfortunately,  the  poor  fellow  is  too 
feeble  to  tell  her  of  the  perils  he  underwent,  so  she  has 
not  had  an  opportunity  of  talking  much  to  him," 

It  struck  Durham  from  this  speech  that  Julius  was 
doubtful  of  the  identity  of  Bernard  with  the  man  at  the 
Bower.  Else  why  should  he  make  this  remark  about 
Alice  not  having  had  time  to  question  the  sick  man, 
seeing  that  Alice  alone  could  prove  if  he  were  Bernard 
or  not?  Durham  was  perplexed,  and  wondered  what 
Julius  was  driving  at,  and  how  much  he  knew.  A  clue 
came  with  the  next  words. 

"  And  being  friends  with  Bernard,"  went  on  Beryl, 
"  he  is  sorry  that  we  quarrelled.  Feeling  that  he  is  not 
long  for  this  world  he  wants  to  make  his  will  in  my 
favor." 

Durham  nearly  uttered  an  exclamation,  for  all  of  a 
sudden  the  whole  rascally  business  became  clear.  Julius 
knew  that  the  man  at  the  Bower  was  Michael,  and  he 
was  prepared  to  extract  from  him  a  forged  wdll,  in  the 
hope  that  the  real  Bernard  was  dead.  Having  made  use 
of  Michael  to  bring  about  the  accusation  of  Gore,  he 
now  used  him  to  the  very  last  to  get  the  money.  How- 
ever, Durham  kept  his  temper  under,  and  pretended  to 
believe  that  Julius  was  speaking  in  all  good  faith.  He 
simply  bowed  his  head.  Every  word  that  Julius  said 
was  wea\dng  a  rope  for  his  own  neck. 

"  Are  you  surprised  then  at  my  calling?  "  said  Julius, 
anxiously. 

"  !N'o,"  said  Durham,  returning  to  his  seat.  "  If  Gore 
wishes  to  make  a  will,  I  suppose  I  am  the  man  to  draw 
it  up.    I  must  go  down  and  receive  his  instructions." 


250  The  Red  Window 

"  I  have  tlicm  with  me/'  said  Julius,  bringing  out  a 
sealed  letter. 

Durham,  inwardlv  boiling  at  this  rascality,  but  out- 
wardlj  calm,  opened  the  letter,  while  Julius  kept  a 
sharp  look-out  on  him.  He  found  a  long  letter,  written 
in  the  same  style  as  Bernard  Gore  usually  wrote,  setting 
forth  directions  for  the  will.  These  included  an  income 
of  five  hundred  a  year  to  Alice  Malleson,  and  the  extra 
allow^ance  of  four  hundred  to  Mrs.  Gilrov,  making  her 
income  five  hundred  in  all.  The  rest  of  the  estate,  real 
and  personal,  went  to  Julius  Beryl.  Durham  smiled  in- 
wardly as  he  read  this  document.  It  was  exactly  the 
kind  of  will  Julius  wanted.  Michael  was  simply  his  in- 
strument, and  Durham  shrewdly  suspected  that  from 
some  knowledge  of  the  forged  check  Beryl  had  obtained 
this  extraordinary  influence. 

"  Well,  it  seems  clear  enough,"  said  the  lawver,  lav- 
ing  down  the  letter,  "  but  I  think  Miss  Malleson,  seeing 
what  she  loses,  should  have  more." 

"  I  think  she  has  quite  enough,"  said  Julius,  tartly. 

"  Then  Mrs.  Gilrov,"  said  Durham,  pretending  ignor- 
ance. "  Why  should  Bernard  leave  her  this  extra 
money? " 

"  I  can't  say.  Bernard  will  probably  tell  you  him- 
self. Will  you  please  draw  out  the  will,  Mr.  Durham, 
and  bring  it  down  to  the  Bower  for  Gore  to  sign?  " 

For  the  sake  of  appearances  Durham  went  on  making 
objections.  All  these  were  met  by  Julius  with  infernal 
cleverness,  until  the  lawyer — on  the  face  of  it — had  not 
a  leg  to  stand  on,  as  the  saying  goes.  Finally  he  con- 
sented to  draw  up  the  Avill  as  instructed  by  the  letter, 
and  agreed  to  meet  Julius  next  day  at  Liverpool  Street 
Station  to  go  down  \\ith  him  to  the  Hall.    Julius  drew 


Plots  and  Counterplots  251 


a  long  breath  of  relief  when  the  lawyer  so  agreed,  and 
apparently  had  no  idea  that  he  was  being  tricked  all  the 
time. 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  yon,  Mr.  Durham,"  said  he, 
holding  out  his  hand,  "  and  when  I  come  into  posses- 
sion of  the  estate  you  will  find  me  a  good  client." 

Durham,  for  the  sake  of  keeping  up  the  deception, 
had  to  shake  hands,  although  he  loathed  himself  for  do- 
ing so.  When  the  door  closed  on  the  arch  plotter  the 
solicitor  went  at  once  to  wash  his  hands. 

"  What  a  complete  scoundrel!  "  said  Durham  to  him- 
self. "  And  how  confoundedly  clever.  Of  course,  if 
the  real  Bernard  were  dead  this  will  might  stand.  At 
all  events,  even  if  Miss  Malleson  could  prove  that 
Michael  is  not  her  lover,  the  new  will  might  lead  to  liti- 
gation. However,  as  Bernard  is  alive  and  well  Ave  can 
produce  him  at  the  eleventh  hour  to  frighten  Beryl.  I 
am  afraid  that  young  man  will  be  hanged  after  all, 
though  I  am  unwilling,  for  the  sake  of  the  family,  that 
things  should  come  to  that  pass." 

However,  Durham,  true  to  his  appointment,  arrived 
at  the  station  the  next  day  and  had  the  will  in  his 
pocket.  Julius  read  it  in  the  train  going  down  and  ex- 
pressed his  approval  of  it.  It  was  now  Durham's  cue 
to  behave  politely  to  Julius,  and  as  though  he  truly 
believed  in  him  and  in  the  false  Bernard  Gore.  But  on 
the  previous  night  he  had  written  a  long  letter  to  Miss 
Berengaria,  which  was  to  be  read  to  Alice.  In  it  Dur- 
ham told  the  whole  of  Beryl's  scheme  to  get  possession 
of  the  property.  But  for  obvious  reasons  he  said  noth- 
ing of  Tolomeo's  story  or  Beryl's  real  guilt.  He 
thought,  very  truly,  that  even  Miss  Berengaria's  nerves 
could  not  stand  being  brought  into  such  close  relation- 


252  The  Red  JVindow 

ship  with  a  proven  murderer,  let  alone  that  Alice  might 
reveal  the  truth  out  of  sheer  disgust.  But  the  letter 
I^repared  the  minds  of  both  ladies  for  the  execution  of 
the  will. 

On  arriving  at  the  Bower  the  two  men  were  met  by 
Jerry,  looking  more  innocent  and  child-like  than  ever. 
"  Please,  missus  says  will  you  go  into  the  drawing- 
room?  "  said  the  infant,  casting  down  his  eyes. 

Durham  looked  hard  at  the  young  scoundrel  who  was 
such  a  worthy  instrument  of  Beryl's.  He  would  have 
liked  to  examine  him  then  and  there  touching  his  luring 
of  Bernard  to  Crimea  Square,  but  the  present  moment 
was  not  propitious,  so  he  passed  on.  Julius,  however, 
in  a  most  benevolent  way  spoke  to  the  boy — "  I  hope 
you  are  giving  your  good  mistress  satisfaction?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  sir.  But  she  was  angry  at  me  writing  and 
telling  you  about  the  poor  sick  gentleman," 

"  By  the  way,  Jerry,  how  did  you  find  out  about 
him?  "  asked  Durham. 

"  I  saw  him  arrive,"  said  Jerry,  ingenuously.  "  I 
was  in  the  garden  when  he  came.  I  woudln't  have  writ- 
ten, sir,  if  I  had  known  that  my  dear  missus  wanted  it 
kept  dark.  But  Mr.  Beryl  was  so  anxious  about  Sir 
Bernard  that  I  thought  he  would  be  glad  to  know  he 
was  alive." 

"  How  did  you  know  this  gentleman  Avas  Sir  Ber- 
nard? " 

"  I  heard  James  the  coachman  describe  him,  and  then 
I  knew." 

"  All  the  same,  Jerry,"  said  Julius,  benevolently, 
"  if  Miss  Berengaria  wished  the  fact  of  Sir  Bernard's 
being  here  kept  quiet,  you  should  not  have  disclosed  \t 
even  to  me." 


Plots  and  Counterplots  253 

"  But  I  wished  to  set  your  mind  at  rest/'  murmured 
Jerry,  looking  up  with  dove-like  eyes.  "  I  owe  you  so 
much,  sir." 

Julius  smiled  and  patting  his  head,  walked  on  to  the 
drawing-room.  It  was  a  very  pretty  comedy,  but  Dur- 
ham was  not  to  be  taken  in.  He  knew  well  enough  that 
the  boy  was  a  mere  tool  and  a  dangerous  one.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  he  did  not  know  until  later  how  danger- 
ous the  lad  really  could  be. 

Miss  Berangaria  and  Alice  were  in  the  dra^ving- 
room,  and  both  smiled  a  welcome  when  the  two  men 
entered.  Alice  darted  a  look  of  terror  and  repulsion 
at  Beryl,  but  as  he  was  shaking  hands  with  the  old  lady 
he  did  not  see  it,  else  he  might  have  suspected.  Dur- 
ham guessed  this  and  touched  her  hand.  She  nodded, 
and  when  Julius  shook  hands  with  her  she  welcomed 
him  again  with  a  smile,  although  her  very  flesh  crept 
when  she  touched  him.  As  for  Miss  Berengaria,  that 
indomitable  old  lady  never  turned  a  hair.  She  smiled 
and  chatted,  and  was  bland  to  Julius.  He  might  have 
been  her  dearest  friend  from  the  amount  of  attention 
she  bestowed  on  him. 

"  So  poor  Bernard  is  going  to  make  his  will,"  she  said 
briskly.    "  I  hope  he  has  left  Alice  something." 

"  Five  hundred  a  year,  and  the  like  amount  to  Mrs. 
Gilroy." 

"  Indeed,  Mr.  Durham;  and  why  to  Mrs.  Gilroy?  " 

"  Bernard  looks  upon  her  as  a  second  mother,"  said 
Julius,  hastily;  "  at  least  he  told  me  so.  Of  course,  I 
know  nothing  about  her.  I  hope,  however,  she  wall  re- 
appear to  claim  her  legacy." 

"  There  may  be  no  chance  for  anyone  to  claim  leg- 
acies for  a  long  time,"  said  Miss  Berengaria,  tartly.  "  I 
hope  Bernard  will  not  die." 


254  The  Red  JFindow 

"1  hope  so  also,"  said  Alice,  fervently;  and  she 
really  meant  it,  even  thoiigli  she  was  thinking  of  the 
yonng  scamp  upstairs. 

Julius  shook  his  head.  "  Dr.  Payne  assures  me  he 
cannot  live.  I  am  glad  he  has  decided  to  make  this 
will." 

"  Yes,  you  would  be,"  said  Miss  Berengaria  ironic- 
ally, and  she  might  have  been  rash  enough  to  say 
more,  but  that  Durham  intervened. 

"  I  hope  none  of  the  servants  know  that  Bernard  is 
here?" 

"  They  all  know  by  this  time,"  said  Miss  Berengaria, 
calmly.  "  We  kept  the  matter  from  them  as  long  as 
possible;  and  with  Alice  I  waited  on  Bernard  myself. 
But  Jerry  told  the  servants  as  w^ell  as  Mr.  Beryl." 

"  Will  the  knowledge  go  any  further?  "  said  the  law- 
yer, keeping  up  the  comedy.  "  I  don't  want  Bernard 
arrested." 

"  My  servants  will  not  speak  under  pain  of  dismissal, 
if  that  is  what  you  mean,"  said  Miss  Plantagenet, 
sharply.     "  As  to  Jerry " 

"  He  is  one  of  your  servants  also,"  said  Beryl,  softly; 
"  but  I  have  some  influence  over  Jerry,  and  I  will  see 
that  he  holds  his  tongue." 

"  You  can  take  him  away  altogether,"  snapped  Miss 
Berengaria.  "  I  don't  approve  of  having  boys  with  long 
tongues  in  my  house.  Jerry  had  no  right  to  be  hanging 
round  the  garden  when  Bernard  arrived,  much  less  to 
write  and  tell  you  that  he  was  here." 

"  He  thought  I  was  anxious." 

"  I  daresay  you  are,"  said  the  old  dame,  "  to  see  Ber- 
nard hanged." 

"  Indeed,  no,"  replied  Julius,  earnestly.  "  I  wish 
him  to  die  in  peace." 


Plots  and  Counterplots  255 


"  Having  got  all  you  can  out  of  him,"  muttered  Miss 
Berengaria,  rubbing  lier  nose.  "  Well,"  she  added 
sharply,  "  are  we  to  go  upstairs  and  witness  this  will?  " 

"  Yes!  Mr.  Beryl  can't  witness  as  he  is  the  residu- 
ary legatee.  I^or  can  Miss  Alice,  since  she  is  mentioned 
in  the  will.    But  you,  Miss  Plantagenet,  and " 

"  And  yourself?  " 

"  No.    I  am  the  executor." 

"  Then  Maria  can  witness  the  will.  She  is  my  own 
maid  and  can  be  depended  upon.  Are  you  coming, 
Julius?" 

"  Thank  you,  no,"  said  Beryl,  with  a  gentle  smile. 
"  I  think  as  I  have  such  a  large  interest  in  the  will  that 
it  is  better  I  should  remain  away.  I  shall  stay  here. 
And  you,  Miss  Malleson?  " 

"  I  shall  stop  also,"  said  Alice  in  reply  to  a  look 
from  Durham.     "  You  go  up  with  Mr.  Durham,  aunt." 

"  Come  along  then,"  said  Miss  Berengaria,  hastening 
out  of  the  room;  ''  the  sooner  this  is  over  the  better. 
Ugh !  I  hate  wills.  They  put  me  in  mind  of  the  family 
vault,  and  I  can't  last  long  now." 

The  lawyer  followed,  and  IMiss  Berengaria  led  him 
up  a  narrow  stair  which  conducted  to  the  turret-room 
in  which  the  false  Bernard  was  lying.  At  the  foot  of 
this  stair  she  stopped.  "  Durham,"  she  said  abruptly, 
"  do  you  mean  to  let  this  man  execute  this  false  will?  " 

"  Yes.  I  wish  Julius  Beryl  to  commit  himself  be- 
yond recall." 

"  What  will  you  do  then?  " 

"  I  can't  say.  One  thing  at  a  time.  When  the  will 
is  executed  we  will  watch  Beryl's  attitude.  Something 
will  happen,"  added  Durham,  thinking  of  the  incrimin- 
ating liandkerchief  in  his  possession. 


256  The  Bed  Window 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Berengaria,  climbing  the  stairs  witli 
a  briskness  surprising  in  a  woman  of  her  years,  "  some- 
thing \\\\\  happen.  This  poor  foresworn  wretch  upstairs 
will  die." 

"  But  I  thought  you  said " 

"  I  know  I  did.  I  could  help  him  back  to  life  with 
careful  nursing,  and  I  wish  to  do  so,  since  I  think  there 
is  good  in  the  rascal.  But  Beryl,  having  had  the  will 
made,  will — kill  him.  Yes,"  added  she,  nodding,  "  there 
will  be  a  repetition  of  the  crime.  I  believe  Beryl  him- 
self killed  Simon — the  old — no,  he  is  dead.  Let  us  be 
just." 

"  What  makes  you  think  Julius  Beryl  killed  Sir 
Simon  ? " 

''  jSTothing,"  snapped  Miss  Berengaria;  "  he  looks  like 
a  murderer."  Durham  smiled  to  himself  as  he  went  up 
the  stairs  and  wondered  at  her  acutcncss  in  thus  hitting 
the  nail  on  the  head.  AVhen  the  will  was  executed 
Julius  certainly  might  attempt  to  get  rid  of  the  instru- 
ment he  had  used,  as  he  had  rid  himself  of  Sir  Simon, 
but  in  the  house  of  Miss  Berengaria  this  woTild  be  a 
more  difficult  matter.  "  And  if  he  tries  anything  of 
that  sort  on,"  thought  Durham,  "  I'll  have  him  arrested 
at  once  for  the  first  murder.  Meantime,  let  us  see  how 
far  he  will  proceed  with  the  plot." 

The  young  man  lying  in  bed  was  very  weak.  His 
face  was  thin  and  pale  and  his  scrubby  beard  was  now 
longer.  He  looked  haggard  and  anxious,  and  started  up 
when  the  door  opened.  "  It  is  only  Mr.  Durham  and  I, 
Bernard,"  said  Miss  Berengaria  in  a  soft  voice.  "  We 
have  come  about  the  will." 

Michael  raised  himself  on  his  elbow.  "  Have  you 
got  it?  "  he  asked. 


Plots  and  Counterplots  257 

"  Yes,"  said  Durham,  producing  the  document. 
''  Miss  Plantagenet,  will  you  please  call  up  your  maid 
to  witness  it?  " 

While  the  old  lady  rang  the  bell  and  Michael  read  the 
will,  the  lawyer  looked  closely  at  the  invalid.  He  was 
wonderfully  like  Bernard,  and  but  that  Durham  knew 
that  the  real  Gore  was  in  another  place  he  might  have 
been  deceived.  Michael  was  clever  enough  to  feign  ill- 
ness as  an  excuse  for  talking  little,  as  he  evidently 
dreaded  to  say  much  lest  Alice  or  Durham  should  ques- 
tion his  identity.  The  whole  deception  was  cleverly 
carried  out.  Michael  even  attempted  to  account  for  any 
difference  in  his  signature. 

"  I  feel  so  weak  I  can't  write  as  firmly  as  I  used  to," 
he  said^  when  the  maid  entered  the  room.  "  So  you 
must  not  be  surprised  if  my  signature  is  unlike  my 
usual  one." 

"  If  it  is  as  good  as  the  writing  in  your  letter,  I 
shan't  complain,"  said  Durham,  wheeling  a  small  table 
near  to  the  bed. 

Michael  looked  at  him  sharply,  and  seemed  relieved 
by  this  remark.  He  evidently  thought  that  all  was  well 
and  safe,  and  heard  Durham  read  the  will  with  closed 
eyes.  Then,  raising  himself  on  his  elbow,  he  signed  his 
name  with  apparent  difficulty.  It  was  wonderfully  like 
the  signature  of  Bernard.  Miss  Plantagenet  and  Maria 
appended  their  signatures  as  witnesses.  Then  Durham 
put  the  will  into  an  envelope  and  prepared  to  go  down. 
Michael  stopped  him. 

"  Mark,"  he  said,  using  the  name  Bernard  usually 
called  the  la\vyer  by,  ''  don't  you  think  I  am  looking 
better?" 

"  I  think  you  are  very  ill,"  said  Durham,  gently. 

"  But  you  don't  think  I'll  die?  " 


258  The  Red  Window 

"  I  hope  not.    With  nursing  you  may  get  better." 

Michael's  face  assumed  an  expression  of  terror.  "  I 
won't  die,"  he  moaned,  sinking  back.  "  I  want  to  get 
well  and  enjoy  myself." 

"Hush!  hush!"  said  Miss  Berengaria,  folding  the 
clothes  round  him,  "  no  more  of  this  unhealthy  talk. 
You  will  get  well." 

With  Durham  they  left  the  room  while  Maria  re- 
mained to  attend  on  the  patient.  "  Well,"  said  Dur- 
ham, in  a  low  voice,  "  you  see  he  expects  to  get  well, 
now  that  he  has  signed  the  will.  I  daresay  he  will  dis- 
appear. The  body  of  Bernard  will  be  found,  and 
Michael  will  share  the  estate  with  Beryl." 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Miss  Plantagenet,  grimly. 
"  Beryl  will  now  murder  this  poor  reptile,  and  take  all 
the  money  to  himself." 

"  I  fear  his  expectations  will  be  disappointed,"  said 
the  lawyer,  dryly. 


CHAPTER  XX 


A  CONFESSION 


At  the  request  of  Miss  Berengaria,  Durham  stopped 
to  dinner;  but  not  even  the  necessity  of  keeping  Julius 
in  a  fool's  paradise  could  make  the  old  lady  extend  the 
invitation  to  him.  Berjd  did  not  mind.  He  knew  per- 
fectly well  that  he  was  no  favorite  with  Miss  Planta- 
genet,  and  often  wondered  why  she  was  so  polite  to  him. 
A  scoundrel  himself,  Julius  was  always  suspicious  of 
others,  and  constantly  strove  to  learn  why  Miss  Beren- 
garia,  whose  honest  character  he  knew,  displayed  such 
courtesy  towards  him.  Then  he  thought  it  was  because 
Bernard  being  in  her  house  she  was  afraid  lest  he 
should  be  arrested  through  the  instrumentality  of  his 
cousin  should  not  tact  be  shown.  Julius  departed  quite 
satisfied  in  his  own  mind  that  he  had  solved  the  prob- 
lem of  Miss  Plantagenet's  behavior.  Had  he  known  the 
real  reason  he  would  not  have  gone  away  so  com- 
placently. 

Before  departing,  Julius  saw  Jerry  and  told  him — 
amongst  other  things — that  he  would  have  to  leave  Miss 
Plantagenet  because  of  his  having  meddled  with  matters 
which  did  not  concern  him.  During  the  interview  Miss 
Berengaria  came  along  and  the  matter  was  explained  to 
her.    She  refused  to  allow  Beryl  to  interfere. 

"  Mind  your  own  precious  business,  young  man,"  she 
said.     "  I  am  quite  able  to  look  after  the  boy  myself." 

"  But  he  has  behaved  badly,"  urged  Julius,  meekly. 


260  The  Red  TVindow 

"  So  he  has,  and  I'd  give  him  a  good  whipping.  How- 
ever, I  am  not  going  to  dismiss  him  for  this.  Jerry,  go 
to  the  kitchen  and  mind  your  P's  and  Q's,  or  I'll  know 
the  reason  why.  And  now,  Mr.  Beryl  " — the  old  lady 
dropped  a  grim  curtsey — "  good-bye." 

Julius  departed  smiling  and  in  no  wise  oifended  at  the 
grimness  of  Miss  Berengaria.  "  I'll  soon  be  able  to  do 
without  the  lot  of  them,"  he  thought,  as  he  walked  to 
the  railway  station,  "  once  the  estate  is  in  my  posses^ 
sion,  and  I'll  keep  away  from  this  place.  Lucy  will 
have  to  turn  out  of  the  Hall,  as  I  won't  have  her  stop- 
ping, after  the  way  in  which  she  has  treated  me.  I  be- 
lieve she  is  in  love  with  that  bounder  of  a  Conniston. 
However,"  he  added  enigmatically,  "  I  know  my  owti 
knowing." 

He  did  not  know  Durham's,  however,  and  wovild  have 
been  considerably  agitated  had  he  learned  what  that 
gentleman  said  to  the  two  ladies  after  his  departure. 
'Not  only  to  them  but  to  Lord  Conniston  himself.  That 
young  gentleman  arrived  with  Lucy  shortly  before 
dinner.  Lucy  had  come  over  to  the  meal,  and  Connis- 
ton, on  his  way  back  to  Bernard  at  the  castle,  thought 
he  would  drop  in.  Of  course,  as  the  astute  lover  in- 
tended, he  was  asked  to  dinner. 

The  meal  passed  off  excellently,  as  everyone  was  in 
good  spirits.  The  lawyer  had  hinted  that  Bernard 
would  soon  be  free,  and  promised  to  tell  the  company 
all  that  he  had  discovered  after  dinner.  When  the  meal 
was  ended  they  all  went  back  to  the  dra\dng-room  and 
sat  round  the  solicitor,  who  commenced  his  recital. 
Prior  to  starting,  Miss  Berengaria  went  up  to  see 
Michael,  and  returned  stating  that  he  was  much  better. 
"  I  believe  he  will  get  well,"  she  said. 


A  Confession  261 


"  Of  course,"  observed  the  lawyer,  ironically,  "  the 
comedy  is  nearly  at  an  end.  The  will  has  been  signed. 
IsTow  Michael  ^vill  disappear  to  allow  Beryl  to  get  the 
estates." 

"  He  will  have  to  supply  a  corpse  then,"  said  Con- 
niston,  coolly. 

"  Oh,  I  daresay  he  will,"  rejoined  Durham,  shrug- 
ging. "  After  the  disappearance  of  Michael  I  know 
exactly  what  will  happen.  A  body  much  decomposed 
will  be  found  in  the  Thames,  and  will  be  recognized 
by  Julius  as  that  of  Bernard's.  Any  corpse  will  do,  so 
long  as  the  face  cannot  be  recognized." 

"Drat  the  man!"  said  Miss  Berengaria,  emphatic- 
ally. "  You  can't  get  a  corpse  mthout  murdering 
someone,  and  I  should  think  that  Beryl  creature  has 
had  enough  of  that  sort  of  work." 

"  Oh,  but  Julius  did  not  kill  Sir  Simon,"  said  Lucy, 
mth  dismav.  "  He  was  at  the  theatre  with  me  and 
Mrs.  Webber." 

"  So  I  believe,"  said  Durham,  dryly;  "  but  tell  me, 
Miss  Randolph,  did  he  leave  you  at  all  during  the 
play?" 

"  ISTot  till  the  last  act,"  said  Lucy.  "  Then  he  went 
to  get  something  to  drink,  and  returned  before  the  end 
of  the  play  to  take  us  away." 

"  How  long  was  he  absent?  " 

"  ^N'early  half  an  hour.  He  said  he  had  met  a  friend 
and  had  been  talking  to  him." 

"  Ah !  Very  clever  of  him.  Well,"  said  Durham, 
looking  round,  "  I  have  something  to  tell  you  all.  We 
are  friends  of  Bernard's,  are  we  not? " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Miss  Berengaria,  sharply,  "  and  I 
know  Avhat  you   ai-e  going  to   tell  "us.      This   Beryl 


262  The  Red  Window 

creature  murdered  Sir  Simon  when  he  was  away  from 
the  theatre." 

"  Impossible!  "  said  Lucy  and  Alice  in  one  breath. 

"  He  could  scarcely  have  done  it  in  half  an  hour," 
said  Conniston. 

"  But  he  did  for  all  that,"  said  Durham.  "  Remem- 
ber, the  Curtain  Theatre  is  only  ten  minutes'  walk 
from  Crimea  Square.  Beryl  could  easily  slip  round 
and  strangle  Sir  Simon — as  he  did." 

"  I  knew  it,"  cried  Miss  Berengaria,  triumphantly. 
"Tell  us  all  about  it,  Durham.  Aha!  we'll  see  that 
reptile  dancing'  on  nothing." 

'^  Oh,  aunt!  "  said  Alice,  turning  pale. 

"  Miss  Plantagenet,"  remonstrated  Lucy,  "  don't 
speak  like  that.  I  do  not  like  Julius,  and  broke  my 
engagement.  I  think  he  is  tricky,  and  has  no  principles, 
but  I  don't  think  he  would " 

"  Yes,  he  would,"  contradicted  the  old  lady,  taking 
a  pinch  of  snuff.  "Bah!  don't  talk  to  me.  Liar  and 
rogue,  murderer  and  thief  are  written  all  over  him. 
My  dear  girls,  the  man  is  a  danger  to  society.  I  want 
to  see  him  hanged.    lie  would  have  hanged  Bernard." 

"  That's  true  enough,"  said  Conniston;  "  but  for  the 
sake  of  the  family,  I  don't  want  to  see  Julius  hanged. 
So  long  as  he  tells  the  truth  and  lets  Bernard  take  his 
place  in  society  I  don't  care." 

"  He  won't  let  Bernard  take  his  place  in  society,"  in- 
sisted Miss  Berengaria,  quietly.  "  I  daresay  I  am  vin- 
dictive, but  that  young  reptile — ugh!  "  She  shuddered 
and  took  another  pinch  of  snuff. 

"  Are  you  sure  he  is  guilty?  "  asked  Lucy,  timidly. 

"  Quite  sure,"  said  Durham,  gravely.  "  I  have  evi- 
dence," and  he  produced  a  handkerchief. 


A  Confession  263 


"  Tell  us  all  about  it,  Durham/'  said  lliss  Planta- 
genet,  briskly.  "  The  sooner  we  learn  the  truth  the 
better.  I  am  getting  very  tired  of  this  connection 
with  the  Police  Court.  I  have  read  detective  novels," 
added  the  old  lady,  emphatically,  "  and  I  never  liked 
them.  To  have  one  in  real  life  and  under  my  respecta- 
ble roof  is  more  than  I  can  bear.  Durham,  you  have 
an  hour  before  you  need  catch  your  train.  Tell  us  all. 
Then  you  can  clear  out,  and  you,  Conniston,  can  go 
also.  Lucy,  I  shall  send  Jerry  back  to  the  Hall  with 
you." 


"  No,  please  not,  Jerry,"  said  Lucy. 

"  Hs  is  a  scamp,"  replied  Miss  Berengaria,  after  a 
pause.  "  Well — well,  we  shall  see.  Meantime,  freeze 
our  blood,  Durham." 

This  the  lawyer  proceeded  to  amidst  a  dead  silence. 
Ko  one  interrupted  him  until  his  recital  was  ended.  To 
make  things  clear,  he  narrated  his  discoveries  from  the 
very  beginning,  and  recounted  his  interview  with  Mrs. 
Gilroy,  with  Tolomeo  and  with  Beryl.  At  the  end  of 
his  story  everyone  looked  at  one  another.  Lucy  shud- 
dered and  hid  her  face,  overwhelmed  by  the  discovery 
of  the  wickedness  of  the  man  she  had  been  engaged  to. 
Alice  was  quite  pale,  thinking  of  the  nets  in  which 
Bernard  had  been  caught,  and  wliich  were  now  on  the 
eve  of  being  broken,  that  he  might  escape.  Conniston 
said  a  word  under  his  breath  not  exactly  fitted  for  the 
drawing-room,  but  which  was  overheard  by  Miss  Beren- 
garia and  approved  by  that  lady. 

"  Thank  you,  Conniston,"  she  said,  taking  a  pinch  of 
snuff  with  relish.  "  Never  tell  me  that  I  am  not  a  judge 
of  character.  T  knew  tliat  scamp  was  the  murderer 
ages  ago.     I  said  so.     Now  " — she  addressed  Durham 


264  The  Red  Window 

Avith  a  suddenness  which  made  him  jump — "  what's  to 
be  done?  " 

^'  I  intend  to  have  Beryl  arrested." 

"And  then?" 

"  I  shall  make  Bernard  give  himself  up.  Tlie  wh<jle 
case  must  be  tried  in  court.  Also  I  shall  have  Michael 
arrested." 

"  But  why,  if  he  is  innocent?  " 

"  My  dear  Miss  Plantagenet,"  said  the  lawyer,  slowly, 
"  Mrs.  Gilroy  is  an  important  witness  in  this  case.  She 
is  hiding.  As  soon  as  she  sees  that  her  son  is  arrested, 
and  in  danger  of  being  condemned  as  an  accesory  before 
the  fact,  she  will  come  out  and  give  evidence  to  show 
that  he  acted  merely  as  the  tool  of  Beryl.  In  a  word, 
she  wall  save  him." 

"  Which  is  four  or  five  words.  Well,  Durham,  I 
don't  say  but  what  you  are  right,  and  if — Good  gra- 
cious, what's  that?  " 

This  was  the  sudden  entrance  of  IMaria,  looking  pale. 
She  hurried  up  to  her  mistress  and  caught  her  arm. 
^'  Oh,  ma'am,  come  to  see  that  poor  gentleman,"  she 
said.  "  He  is  very  ill — I  don't  know  what's  the  mat- 
ter." 

Neither  Miss  Berengaria  nor  the  others  were  startled; 
it  was  to  be  expected  that  Michael  would  have  fre- 
quent lapses  in  his  illness. 

The  old  lady  rose  at  once  to  the  occasion.  "  Send 
Jerry  at  once  for  Dr.  Payne,"  she  said  sharply. 

"  Please,  ma'am,  Jerry  has  left  the  house." 

"  Left  the  house!   What  do  you  mean?  " 

Maria  explained.  "  I  haven't  seen  Jerry  since  six 
o'clock,"  she  declared;  "  he  brought  me  up  the  cup  of 
tea  you  ordered  for  the  poor  sick  gentleman." 


A  Confession  265 


"  I  ordered  no  tea,"  said  Miss  Berengaria,  with  un- 
easiness. 

"  Jerry  said  you  did,  ma'am,"  persisted  the  maid; 
"  he  brought  it  to  me,  and  said  you  wished  the  gentle- 
man to  drink  it  at  once.  He  waited  while  the  gentle- 
man did  so,  and  then  said  he  would  tell  you.  I  forgot 
to  mention  it,  ma'am,  when  you  came  up  after  dinner." 

Durham  nodded  significantly  and  rose.  "  I  wdll  go 
for  Dr.  Payne,"  he  said,  walking  to  the  door.  "  Is  the 
gentleman  ill?  " 

"  Very,  sir.  He  says  he  has  a  burning  pain  in  his 
stomach." 

Durham  nodded  again  and  glanced  at  the  old  lady. 
"  You  were  right,"  he  said  gravely,  "  there  is  something 
wrong,"  and  he  disappeared  to  fetch  the  doctor. 

"  Where  is  Jerry  gone?  "  asked  Miss  Berengaria. 

"  I  don't  know,  ma'am.  James  said  he  went  out  at 
half-past  six  with  his  bag,  complaining  you  had  sent 
him  away." 

"  James  should  have  stopped  him,  or  have  told  me." 

"  So  he  says,  ma'am,  now." 

"  When  it  is  too  late,"  said  the  angry  Miss  Beren- 
garia. "  Alice,  come  with  me.  Conniston,  you  can 
wait  here  with  Miss  Randolph,"  and  before  the  couple 
could  say  a  word,  the  old  lady  hurried  out  of  the  room, 
followed  by  Alice.  Both  were  oppressed  by  a  sense  of 
anxiety. 

Michael  was  very  ill  and  in  great  pain.  Sitting  up  in 
bed,  he  was  pressing  both  hands  to  his  stomach  and 
moaning.  "  Oh,  give  me  water — water,"  he  entreated, 
when  the  women  appeared,    "  I  am  dpng  of  thirst." 

AVhile  Miss  Berengaria  gave  him  drink,  Alice  looked 
into  the  tea-cup,  which  still  stood  on  the  table  beside 


266  The  Red  Window 

the  bed.  At  the  bottom  there  was  a  white  sediment, 
"  Something  has  been  given  to  you  in  your  tea,"  she 
said,  turning  pale. 

"  It  was  some  time  after  drinking  the  tea  that  I  felt 
ill,"  moaned  Michael,  rocking  to  and  fro.  "  Oh,  how  I 
suffer." 

"  Jerry  brought  the  tea,"  began  Miss  Plantagenet, 
when  Michael  interrupted  her  with  a  scream. 

"Jerry!  Jerry!  It's  Beryl's  work.  Jerry  did  any- 
thing he  told  him.  I  believe  he  has  poisoned  me.  Call 
him  up — call  him  up." 

"  Jerry  has  gone  away,"  said  Miss  Berengaria,  very 
pale. 

"  Lost!  Lost!  "  moaned  Michael.  "  Ah.  this  was 
why  he  made  m.c  sign  the  will — this  was  why — oh,  heav- 
ens! how  I  suffer — suffer — the  pain — the  pain.  Help 
me — help  me !   I  am  poisoned !  " 

Both  the  terrified  women  looked  at  one  another,  for 
even  Miss  Berengaria,  strong-minded  as  she  was,  felt 
her  nerve  give  way  under  this  unexpected  catastrophe. 
Then  Alice  advanced  to  the  bedside,  and  from  sheer 
force  of  habit  addressed  Michael  by  the  false  name  he 
had  assumed.     "  Bernard " 

"  I  am  not  Bernard,"  he  screamed,  rocking  and  rock- 
ing. I  will  confess  all.  I  am  a  dead  man.  Beryl  won't 
give  me  the  money  now.  He  wants  it  all  to  himself. 
He  has  made  Jerry  poison  me.  I  am  to  die  as  Sir  Simon 
died.  I  am  lost — lost — lost.  Oli,  wliat  a  wicked  man  I 
have  been." 

"  Make  atonement  while  you  can,"  said  Miss  Beren- 
garia, taking  swift  advantage  of  the  opportunity. 
"  Listen.  We  have  known  for  some  time  that  you  are 
not  Bernard  Gore,  and " 


A  Confession  267 


Michael  paid  no  attention,  but  kept  on  rocking  in  an 
agony  of  pain.  "Help  me — save  me!"  he  moaned. 
"  Oh,  great  heavens !  " 

"  Payne  will  be  here  directly,"  said  the  old  lady. 
"  Maria  " — the  maid  was  in  the  room  by  this  time — ■ 
"  go  down  and  bring  up  some  boiling  water.  AYe  will 
apply  hot  flannels  to  his  stomach." 

"  Meanwhile,"  said  Alice,  when  the  maid  ran  out, 
'^  tell  us  about  yourself,  MichaeL" 

"  Michael — Michael,"  he  muttered,  with  the  per- 
spiration beading  his  brow.  "  You  know  my  name. 
I  thought  you  took  me  for  Gore." 

"  Never.  Bernard  Gore  is  alive.  We  pretended 
to  believe  you,  so  that  in  the  end  you  might  be  induced 
to  confess." 

"  And  now  you  have  poisoned  me." 

"  Certainly  not,"  cried  Miss  Plantagenet,  quickly. 
"  Jerry  gave  you  the  cup  of  tea." 

"  He  said  you  told  him  to  bring  it  up." 

"  I  did  not.  He  brought  it  up  himself,  and  has  now 
left  the  house.  As  soon  as  he  knew  you  had  drunk  it, 
he  left  the  house.  And  now  that  I  remember,"  added 
Miss  Berengaria,  sharply,  "  Beryl  was  talking  privately 
to  the  boy  before  he  went  away." 

"  Yes!  Y"es!  It  is  Beryl  who  has  done  this.  Oh,  I 
will  confess  all.    It  was  Beryl  who  killed  Sir  Simon." 

"  We  know  that,  and — ah,  here  is  Payne.  Doctor,  I 
am  glad  you  have  come.    Do  you  know " 

"  I  know  a  great  deal,"  said  Payne.  "  Mr.  Durham 
talked  to  me  while  we  drove  along.  He  met  me  half- 
way to  Hurseton.    Come,  we  must  get  to  work." 

He  asked  Alice  and  Durham,  who  had  entered,  to 
leave  the  room^  and  began  to  attend  to  the  .wretched 


268  The  Red  If^ndow 

man.  Maria  came  up  with  hot  water  and  then  hurried 
down  for  oil  and  mustard.  Payne  took  up  the  cup 
wdiich  Miss  Berengaria  pointed  out  and  examined  it. 
lie  touched  the  sediment  wdth  the  tip  of  his  finger  and 
tasted  it.    "  Arsenic,"  said  he. 

"  Good  Lord!  "  cried  the  old  lady,  sitting!  down 
heavily,  "  and  in  my  own  house.  Doctor,  that  boy  must 
be  arrested.    Are  you  sure?  " 

"  Certain.  Arsenic  has  been  administered.  That  is 
why  he  feels  these  burning  pains.  Give  me  the  oil  and 
mustard.  We  must  give  him  an  emetic,  so  that  he  may 
get  rid  of  the  poison.     We  may  save  him  yet." 

"  You  must  save  him!  "  cried  Miss  Berengaria,  lend- 
ing a  hand  readily,  "  for  his  evidence  is  needed  to  con- 
vict Bervl  of  murder." 

"  Mr.  Durham  told  me  something  of  this,  but  not 
all,"  said  Payne,  going  on  with  the  business.  "  Go 
down  and  leave  the  man  to  me  for  a  time.  Miss  Beren- 
garia.   I  will  call  you  when  he  is  better." 

By  this  time  Michael  was  almost  insensible  with 
pain,  but  Miss  Plantagenet  left  the  room  at  once.  Hur- 
rying down  to  the  drawing-room,  she  found  the  four 
young  people  waiting  there  with  scared  faces.  Even 
Durham  was  startled  by  the  expedition  with  which 
Julius  had  carried  out  his  plan  of  ridding  himself  of  an 
undesirable  witness. 

"  Though  he's  a  fool,"  said  the  lawyer,  emphatically. 
"  He  should  have  made  Jerry  wait  for  a  few  days." 

"  And  to  use  such  an  obvious  poison,"  said  Miss 
Berengaria;  "  it  is  arsenic  that  has  been  administered. 

"  Michael  will  confess  now,  though,"  said  Alice.  "  I 
do  hope  he  won't  die.  Mr.  Durham,  where  are  you 
going? " 


A  Confession  269 


"  To  the  Hurseton  telegraph  office.  The  doctor's 
trap  is  at  the  door  now.  I  wish  to  wire  to  Scotland 
Yard,  so  that  Jerrj  may  be  caught." 

"  Don't  go,"  implored  Alice,  "  at  any  time  Michael 
may  be  able  to  speak,  and  I  wish  you  to  write  down  his 
confession." 

"  I  will  go,"  said  Conniston,  jumping  up.  "  Write 
down  the  wire,  Durham.  The  sooner  Jerry  is  tracked 
the  better.    We  shall  catch  Julius  yet." 

"  I  only  hope  we'll  save  Michael,"  muttered  Durham, 
going  to  Miss  Plantagenet's  desk.  "  Come  here,  Con- 
niston." 

"  When  the  mre  was  written — and  a  long  one  it  was 
— Conniston  made  free  with  Payne's  trap  and  drove  to 
Hurseton,  where  he  sent  it  at  once  to  London.  Mean- 
time, those  in  the  drawing-room  talked  over  the  matter 
and  waited  to  hear  from  the  doctor.  After  an  hour  he 
made  his  appearance.  "He  is  better,"  he  announced; 
"  the  mustard  and  oil  made  him  sick.  I  think  he  has 
got  rid  of  the  poison.  He  wants  to  see  you,  Mr.  Dur- 
ham." 

"  I'll  go  at  once,"  said  the  lawyer,  while  Alice  clasped 
her  hands. 

But  Payne  stopped  him.  "  ]^o.  I  want  the  man  to 
have  a  short  sleep  first,"  he  said,  "  and  I  am  returning 
to  watch  beside  him.  I  will  ring  the  bell  when  he  is 
better  and  able  to  speak." 

It  was  late  that  night  or  rather  early  next  morning 
before  the  household  retired.  Miss  Berengaria,  think- 
ing the  servants  had  better  know  as  little  as  possible, 
sent  them  to  bed,  retaining  only  Maria  to  wait  on  her 
personally.  Then  Conniston  returned,  and  the  five  sat 
in  the  drawing-room  talking.    About  two  in  the  morn- 


270  The  Red  JFiridow 

ing  the  bell  in  the  turret  chamber  was  heard  to  ring. 
Durham,  with  writing  materials,  hastened  up  at  once. 
Alice  wanted  to  go,  but  Miss  Berengaria  made  her  stop. 
Then  she  sent  Conniston  to  the  Hall  to  tell  any  servant 
who  was  waiting  up  that  Miss  Randolph  would  remain 
that  night  at  the  Bower.  "  And  when  you  return,  you 
can  sleep  also,"  she  said. 

Durham  found  Michael  better  but  weak.  He  was 
lying  back  on  his  pillows  in  an  almost  exhausted  con- 
dition, and  Payne  was  feeling  his  pulse.  "  I  wanted 
him  to  wait  till  the  dawn,"  said  the  doctor,  "  but  he  in- 
sists on  speaking." 

"  I  might  die,"  said  Michael,  his  eyes  large  and  bright 
and  his  voice  hoarse.  "  I  want  my  revenge  on  this  man 
v.dio  tried  to  poison  me." 

"  Are  you  sure  Beryl " 

"  I  am  quite  sure.  Jerry  brought  up  the  tea,  and 
arsenic  was  in  it.  I  know  Beryl  wanted  to  get  all  the 
estate  to  himself.  Tell  me  " — Michael  looked  anxiouslv 
towards  Durham — "  is  Gore  alive?  " 

"  Yes.  Miss  Malleson  and  Miss  Plantagenet  knew 
you  were  Michael  Gilroy  as  soon  as  you  came." 

"  And  they  fooled  me." 

"  They  did,"  admitted  Durham,  promptly,  "  and  I 
did  also.  I  allowed  you  to  make  that  false  will,  so  as  to 
trap  Beryl." 

"  Ah !  and  he  will  be  trapped  and  hanged,"  said  the 
boy,  bitterly.  "  I  only  hope  I'll  be  alive  to  see  him 
swing." 

"  Mr.  Durham,"  said  Payne,  removing  his  finger 
from  the  patient's  pulse,  "  if  you  want  to  hear  this  con- 
fession you  had  better  get  to  work  at  once.  I  cannot 
allow  him  to  talk  long." 


A  Confession  27  i 


"  I'll  begin,"  said  Michael,  in  a  stronger  voice,  and 
without  further  preamble  he  began  to  talk  in  a  slow, 
monotonous  voice,  almost  without  a  pause.  Durham 
took  down  his  words  swiftly. 

"  My  name  is  Michael  Gilroy,"  said  the  lad,  quietly. 
"  I  am  the  son  of  Walter  Gore,  the  father  of  Bernard, 
and  of  Mrs.  Gilroy,  who  was  the  housekeeper  at  the 
Hall.  My  father  deceived  her  by  a  false  marriage,  as 
at  the  time,  although  my  mother  did  not  know,  he  was 
already  married  to  a  Signora  Tolomeo." 

"You  are  sure  of  that?"  asked  Durham.  "Your 
mother  said " 

"  I  know — I  know,  but  she  is  wrong.  She  wanted  to 
make  me  out  the  heir.  But  I  am  three  years  younger 
than  my  half-brother.  It  was  a  false  marriage.  When 
my  mother  discovered  the  truth,  she  went  to  America 
with  me.  My  father  allowed  us  an  income.  When  he 
died,  my  mother  was  starving  with  me  in  'New  York. 
She  came  to  this  country  and  saw  my  grandfather.  Sir 
Simon,  in  London.  He  heard  her  story  and  was  sorry 
for  her.  Then  he  offered  her  the  post  of  housekeeper 
at  the  Hall,  and  promised  to  provide  for  her  after  his 
death.  But  he  would  only  assist  her  on  condition  that  I 
was  sent  back  to  the  States.  I  returned,  and  my  mother 
kept  me  out  of  her  wages.  She  has  been  a  good  mother 
to  me " 

"  Take  this,"  said  Payne,  holding  wine  to  his  lips,  for 
his  voice  was  growing  weaker. 

Michael  drank,  and  continued  at  once.  "  My  mother 
had  an  idea  of  making  me  the  heir.  But,  as  I  told  her, 
that  was  impossible.  She  had  told  Sir  Simon  too  much 
at  first.  I  remained  in  the  States  till  I  was  over  twenty, 
then  I  came  to  England.     Sir  Simon  got  mo  a  post  in 


272  The  Red  Window 


the  city.  I  did  not  like  the  work,  and  I  idled.  He  often 
assisted  me.    I  behaved  very  badly." 

"  I  know  that,"  said  Durham,  pausing  in  his  writing. 
"  You  forged  a  check  made  payable  to  Bernard  Gore." 

Michael  laughed  weakly.  "  I  did,"  he  said.  "  I 
wanted  money  and  I  got  a  thousand  pounds  by  that." 

"  How  is  it  that  you  are  so  poor?  " 

"  Because  Beryl  took  the  money  from  me.  He 
wanted  money  also,  and  he  threatened  to  have  me  ar- 
rested for  the  murder  if  I  did  not  give  him  all.  I  spent 
very  little  of  it.  He  took  all,  and  then  left  me  to  starve. 
I  came  here,  and " 

"  Wait  a  bit;  I  want  to  know  about  your  impersona- 
tion of  Gore?  " 

"  That  was  Beryl's  idea  also.  He  met  me  in  the  city, 
as  Sir  Simon  one  day  sent  him  to  pay  me  money.  He 
was  struck  by  my  likeness  to  my  half-brother,  and  even 
then  he  resolved  to  make  use  of  me.  But  there  was  no 
chance  until  Bernard  quarrelled  with  Sir  Simon.  Then 
Beryl  found  that  Gore  had  enlisted  in  the  Imperial  Yeo- 
manry. He  told  me  that  Sir  Simon  was  coming  to  town 
to  live  in  Crimea  Square,  and  he  was  afraid  lest  he 
should  become  reconciled  to  Bernard.  Beryl,  knowing 
how  proud  Sir  Simon  was,  persuaded  me  to  impersonate 
Bernard  by  dressing  up  as  an  Imperial  Yeoman,  and 
arranged  that  I  should  make  love  to  a  housemaid " 

"  So  as  to  get  into  the  house?  " 

"Yes;  and  so  as  to  let  the  fact  get  to  Sir  Simon's 
ears.  Beryl  thought  that  if  Sir  Simon  knew  that  Ber- 
nard was  making  love  to  a  servant,  he  would  cast  him 
off  for  ever.  Well,  I  did  make  the  acquaintance  of  the 
housemaid  and  visited  at  the  house,  keeping  well  out  of 
sight  of  my  mother." 


A  Confession  273 


"  She  did  not  know  you  were  there?  " 

"  1^0.  Whenever  she  was  heard  coming  I  got  out  of 
the  way.  She  really  thought  from  Jane's  description 
that  I  was  my  half-brother." 

"When  did  you  forge  the  check?" 

"  Just  before  I  met  Jane  at  the  beginning  of  October. 
Beryl  and  I  both  wanted  the  money.  I  could  imitate 
Bernard's  writing,  as  Beryl  got  me  some  letters  of  his. 
I  forged  the  check  and  got  the  money.  Then  Beryl 
afterwards  took  it  from  me." 

"  And  did  Sir  Simon  know  of  the  forgery? "  said 
Durham,  thinking  of  what  had  been  said  to  him  by 
Tolomeo. 

"  I  am  coming  to  that/'  went  on  Michael,  after  an- 
other drink  of  wine.  "  I  visited  at  the  house  as  I  said, 
and  Sir  Simon  came  to  know  that — as  he  thought — 
Bernard  was  about  the  place.  He  sent  down  on  the 
evening  of  the  committal  of  the  crime  to  ask  me  up.  I 
was  afraid,  and  I  ran  away." 

"  Why  did  you  return  before  ten?  " 

"  Ah,  you  know  that,  do  you?  "  said  Michael,  with  a 
weak  smile,  "  I  returned  because  it  struck  me  that 
there  might  be  some  difficulty  about  the  check,  and  I 
thought  I  would  see  Sir  Simon  about  it  myself.  I 
fancied  he  might  have  me  arrested.  On  the  other  hand, 
I  thought  he  might  truly  think  it  was  Bernard,  and  then 
that  would  assist  Beryl's  plans  for  keeping  him  out  of 
the  property.  I  came  to  the  house  just  after  ten.  My 
mother  opened  the  door.  AVhen  she  saw  me,  she 
ordered  me  away.    I  refused  to  go." 

"  Why  was  that?  " 

Michael  hesitated  for  a  moment.  "  I  have  not  told 
you  my  real  reason  for  coming,"  he  said  at  length.    "  It 


274  The  Bed  Winchxv 

was  Beryl's  plan.  He  arranged  to  go  to  the  theatre, 
and  that  I  should  come  to  the  house  at  that  time.  I  saw 
him  between  six  and  eight.  He  told  me  that  he  would 
send  Jerry  to  lure  Bernard  to  the  Crimea  Square 
house " 

"  How  did  he  know  where  Bernard  was?  " 

"  He  kept  a  watch  on  Bernard  through  Jerry.  It 
was  arranged  that  I  should  see  Sir  Simon  and  make 
things  safe  for  myself  about  the  check  should  there  be 
any  trouble.  I  thought  that  was  Beryl's  plan  at  the 
time,"  said  Michael,  restlessly,  "  but  now  I  see  that  he 
intended  murder.  I  was  to  go  as  Bernard,  and  when  I 
left,  the  old  man  was  to  be  killed.  Then  Bernard, 
brought  by  Jerry,  would  be  on  the  spot  and  would  be 
arrested." 

"  And  that  is  exactly  what  happened." 

"  I  know.  But  I  swear  I  did  not  know  it  at  the 
time,"  said  Michael,  earnestly.  "  I  really  believed  all 
was  safe.  Had  I  guessed  that  Beryl  intended  murder, 
I  should  not  have  gone  to  see  Sir  Simon.  But  I  did  go. 
He  knew  about  the  check  and  threatened  to  have  me 
arrested.  There  was  an  Italian  hidden  in  the  room. 
Sir  Simon  called  him,  and  when  I  saw  him  I  ran  away." 

"AVhy  did  you  do  that?" 

"  I  thought  he  was  a  detective,  and  that  Sir  Simon  in- 
tended to  arrest  me  at  once.  I  ran  away  and  went 
h(juio.     That  is  all  I  know." 

Durham  was  disappointed.  "  But  you  surely  know 
Avho  killed " 

"  No,"  interrupted  Michael.  "  I  suspected  Beryl. 
I  think  he  killed  him,  but  I  am  not  sure.  Next  day, 
when  the  murder  was  proclaimed,  and  it  was  said  Ber- 
nard was  drowned,  Beryl  came  to  me,  and  told  me  to 


A  Confession  275 


lie  quiet  in  case  I  should  be  arrested  for  the  crime.  He 
then  took  all  my  money  by  threatening  to  have  me 
arrested  as  the  murderer." 

"  But  if  you  had  told  this  story,  and  used  Tolomeo  as 

a  witness " 

"  Tolomeo?  who  is  he?    I  know  no  one  of  that  name." 
"  He  was  the  man  you  took  for  a  detective." 
"  Well,  then,  not  knowing  who  he  really  was,  how 
could  I  have  cleared  myself?    Beryl  could  have  accused 
me." 

"  Tolomeo  could  have  cleared  you.  He  was  with  Sir 
Simon  when  you  left,  and  Sir  Simon  was  alive.  What 
happened  then?  " 

"  I  lay  quiet.  Then  I  grew  afraid,  and  hid  myself 
in  different  places.  Beryl  found  me  out,  and  persuaded 
me  to  come  here  to  personate  Bernard,  and  make  a  will. 
He  promised  me  that  I  should  get  half  the  money.  I 
intended  to  vanish  when  I  made  the  will,  and  then  Beryl 

arranged  to  get  the  money  somehow " 

"  But  how  did  you  expect  to  deceive  Miss  Malleson?  " 
"  I  didn't.  I  intended  to  tell  her  the  truth,  as  I  was 
weary  of  Beryl's  tricks.  But  when  I  saw  that  she  and 
Miss  Plantagenet  took  me  for  Bernard,  I  resolved  to 
carry  on  the  plot.  Then  Beryl  came  and  the  will  was 
signed.    You  know  the  rest." 

Michael's  voice  had  been  growing  weaker  and  weaker. 
Finally  his  eyes  closed,  and  he  laid  his  head  back  on  the 
pillow.  "  He  has  fainted  again,"  said  Payne.  "  You 
must  wait  till  he  recovers  for  the  signature." 


CHAPTER  XXI 


YOUNG   JUDAS 


The  next  morning  Michael  was  pronounced  to  be  out 
of  danger  by  Dr.  Payne,  and  appended  his  signature  to 
the  confession.  He  still  held  to  his  indignant  attitude 
against  Beryl,  and  was  most  anxious  that  he  should  be 
arrested.  So  far  as  he  knew.  Beryl  was  innocent  of  the 
crime;  but  Durham  knew  better.  Having  the  evidence 
of  Tolomeo  and  possession  of  the  fatal  handkerchief,  he 
was  perfectly  content  to  believe  that  Julius  was  guilty. 
Since  he  was  one  of  the  Gore  family,  it  was  a  grave 
question  as  to  whether  he  should  be  arrested.  But  see- 
ing that  Bernard's  character  could  not  be  cleared  until 
the  whole  truth  came  out,  and  the  wrongdoer  suffered 
for  his  wickedness,  it  was  agreed  that  a  warrant  should 
be  obtained  for  the  guilty  person.  This  business  was 
entrusted  to  Durham,  and  he  departed  for  town  by  the 
mid-day  train. 

"  And  you  can  ride  over  to  the  castle,  Conniston," 
he  said  to  that  young  gentleman,  who  accompanied  liim 
to  the  station^  "  and  tell  Bernard  to  hold  himself  in 
readiness  to  come  to  London." 

"Will  he  be  arrested?" 

"  I  fancy  so.  But  I  can't  yet  be  sure.  At  all  events. 
Beryl  will  be  accused  and  taken  in  charge,  so  Bernard 
will  soon  be  set  free." 

"  What  about  Jerry?  " 

"  I  will  go  to  Scotland  Yard  as  soon  as  I  arrive,  and 


Young  Judas  277 


see  if  anything  has  been  heard  of  the  young  scamp. 
However,  if  we  get  Beryl,  we  may  be  able  to  do  with- 
out Jerry." 

"  Do  you  intend  to  have  Michael  arrested? " 

"  Yes,"  said  Durham,  calmly,  "  as  an  accessory  be- 
fore the  fact.    I  can't  say  if  he  is  innocent  or  guilty." 

"  But,  Durham,  you  heard  him  declare  that  he  was 
unaware  that  Beryl  intended  to  kill  Sir  Simon.  Michael 
only  called  to  see  about  the  check." 

"  I  doubt  that  part  of  his  confession,"  replied  the 
lawyer,  dryly.  "  It  appears  to  me  that  Michael  would 
have  kept  out  of  the  way  had  he  entertained  the  slight- 
est idea  that  Sir  Simon — as  he  did — guessed  that  the 
check  was  forged.  Besides,  I  want  to  have  a  mention  of 
Michael  Gilroy's  arrest  put  in  the  papers,  so  that  his 
mother  may  be  mthdrawn  from  her  hiding-place." 

"  Do  you  think  she  will  come?  " 

"  I  am  certain.  She  alone  knows  what  took  place 
when  Beryl  entered  the  house  and  how  he  strangled  the 
old  man.  I  am  convinced  that  to  save  her  son  she  will 
denounce  Julius,  no  matter  what  oifer  he  has  made  to 
her  about  holding  her  tongue.  Here's  the  train.  Good- 
bye, Conniston,  and  bring  Bernard  up  to  town  when  I 
send  a  wire." 

The  train  steamed  off,  and  Conniston  was  left  stand- 
ing on  the  platform.  "  I  do  hope  all  this  business  will 
soon  be  at  an  end,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  I  am  about 
weary  of  surprises." 

Already  it  had  been  arranged  that  Miss  Berengaria 
should  keep  an  eye  on  Michael — who  never  expected  to 
be  arrested — so  Conniston  had  no  need  to  return  to  the 
Bower.  Mounting  his  horse  he  took  his  way  along  the 
high-road  to  the  castle,  and  arrived  there  somewhere 


278  The  Red  Window 

about  two  o'clock.  As  there  was  no  one  about  the 
place  he  put  up  the  horse  himself,  and  then  came  to  the 
front  door.  Much  to  his  surprise  it  was  locked,  but  a 
vigorous  ringing  of  the  bell  brought  Mrs.  Moon  to  the 
door.  That  estimable  lady  looked  worried,  and  her 
pallid  face  was  whiter  than  ever,  gleaming  like  the 
moon  itself  from  the  frilling  of  her  cap.  When  she  saw 
her  master,  she  lifted  up  her  large  hands. 

"  Goodness  be  praised  your  lordship  has  come,"  said 
she,  with  a  moan  and  groan  combined  in  a  most  extraor- 
dinary way.  "  Have  you  seen  my  wicked  Victoria,  your 
lordship?  " 

"  ]^o.    Has  she  gone  away?  " 

"  Last  night,"  said  Mrs.  Moon,  drifting  into  the  hall. 
"  Bless  your  lordship  dear,  she  went  away  before  ten 
o'clock  in  her  best  things,  saying  she  would  be  back. 
And  not  an  eye  have  I  set  on  her  since.  But  then  I  ex- 
pect the  coming  of  Jerry  upset  her." 

"  Jerry!  "  shouted  Conniston,  throwing  down  his  cap. 
"  Did  you  say  that  Jerry  was  here?  " 

"  Yes.  He's  here,  your  lordship,  and  he  has  sent 
Mr.  Grant  mad.  As  soon  as  Jerry  set  eyes  on  Mr. 
Grant  last  niglit,  when  he  come  at  nine  o'clock,  he  had 
his  hair  standing  on  end.  Mr.  Grant,  he  was  amazed- 
Ijke  also,  and  took  Jerry  to  his  room.  There  he  have 
kept  him  locked  up,  and  wished  to  send  a  messenger  to 
your  dear  lordship,  and " 

Conniston  waited  to  hear  no  more.  He  tore  up  the 
stairs  two  at  a  time,  and  burst  red-faced  and  excited 
into  Bernard's  sitting-room. 

His  friend  had  already  heard  his  hasty  footsteps,  and 
was  on  his  feet  staring  at  the  door.  "  I'm  glad  you've 
come,  Conniston/'  he  said  breathlessly,     "  That  boy 


Young'  Judas  279 


Jerry  is  here,  and  I've  locked  him  ujd  in  case  he  should 
get  away  and  tell  Beryl." 

"  Beryl  has  his  hands  full  at  present,"  said  Conniston, 
grimly.    "  As  to  Judas,  he's  wanted  by  the  police." 
"The  dickens!     AVhatfor?" 
"  For  trying  to  poison  Michael  Gilroy!  " 
Bernard  stared.     "  Michael  Gilroy?     Where  is  he?  " 
"  At  Miss  Plantagenet's.    It's  a  long  story.    I'll  tell 
it  to  you  as  soon  as  I  can  get  my  breath.     Where's 
Jerry?  " 

"  Shut  up  in  an  empty  room,"  said  Bernard.  "  He 
came  last  night  at  nine  or  thereabouts.  I  was  outside 
the  castle  door  and  saw  him  coming.  I  did  not  know  it 
was  him  until  I  stepped  into  the  hall.  When  Jerry  saw 
me,  his  hair  rose  on  end,  and  he  appeared  to  be  fright- 
ened out  of  his  life." 

"  As  he  well  may  be,"  muttered  Conniston. 
"  I  collared  him,  and  he  tried  to  get  away.  But  I 
took  him  to  my  room  and  kept  him  there.  He  refused 
to  answer  my  questions  unless  I  let  him  go.  Of  course 
not  being  able  to  trust  him,  I  declined,  so  I  am  quite 
in  the  dark  as  to  what  he  has  been  doing.  I  then  shut 
him  up  in  an  empty  room,  with  a  barred  window,  and 
sent  Victoria  in  to  take  him  some  food.  And  then  a 
queer  thing  hapi:)ened,  Conniston.  Victoria  took  him  in 
the  food,  and  was  with  Jerry  for  about  ten  minutes. 
When  she  came  out  she  went  downstairs  and  dressed 
herself  in  her  best.  Then  she  left  the  castle,  and  has 
not  been  heard  of  since.  I  am  afraid  she  has  gone  to 
tell  Beryl  where  I  am,"  concluded  Bernard,  gloomily. 
'•  And  I  may  be  arrested  to-day.  I  should  have  looked 
after  Victoria,  but  I  never  knew  that  Jerry  would  act 
60  promptly.    He  is  a  perfect  imp  for  cleverness." 


280  The  Red  Window 

"  Don't  jou  trouble  your  bead  about  being  arrested," 
said  Dick,  drawing  a  long  breath.  "  It's  not  about  that 
Victoria  has  gone." 

"  But  what  can  the  boy  have  sent  her  away  for?  " 

"  To  warn  Beryl.  It's  a  pity  you  didn't  keep  the 
two  apart,"  said  Conniston,  much  vexed.  "  But  as  you 
have  been  so  much  in  the  dark,  you  can't  help  the  mis- 
take you  made.  As  to  arrest,  you  may  have  to  give 
yourself  up.  Mark  told  me  to  inform  you  to  hold  your- 
self in  readiness." 

"  I  shall  be  delighted,"  said  Gore,  emphatically.  "  I 
am  about  tired  of  this  hole-and-corner  business.  But 
what  about  Michael  Gilroy?" 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Conniston,  lighting  a  cigarette.  "  I 
will  tell  you  the  whole  story.  It  was  not  told  you  be- 
fore, as  Mark  ^vas  afraid,  with  your  impatient  disposi- 
tion, you  would  insist  on  turning  up  and  spoiling  the 
whole  business." 

"  I  daresay  I  should  have  done  so,"  admitted  Ber- 
nard, frankly.  "But,  tell  me,  what's  up,  old  chap? 
I'm  on  tenterhooks." 

"  Well,  in  the  first  place,  we  have  discovered  that 
Julius  killed  your  grandfather." 

Bernard  started  to  his  feet.  "  What !  "  he  shouted, 
then  calmed  down.  "  I  almost  expected  to  hear  you 
say  that,"  he  added.  "  How  was  the  villain  found 
out?" 

"  You  may  wtII  call  him  a  villain,"  rejoined  Connis- 
ton; "  he  has  tried  to  poison  Michael." 

"What  for?" 

"  To  get  rid  of  an  undesirable  witness,  I  suppose.  He 
employed  Jerry  to  give  him  some  arsenic  in  a  cup  of 
tea.    Jerry  did  so,  and  then  cleared  out,     Mark  com- 


Young-  Judas  281 


inimicated  with  Scotland  Yard  about  Jerry,  but  we 
never  expected  he  would  be  here.  It's  a  lucky  thing 
you  kept  the  young  wretch  prisoner,  Bernard." 

"  This  is  all  very  well,"  said  Bernard,  who  looked  be- 
wildered. "  But  you  tell  me  so  many  facts  without 
detail  that  I  can't  understand  how  to  connect  them. 
Tell  me  the  whole  story." 

"  You  won't  interrupt  if  I  do?  " 

"  'No/'  said  Gore,  impatiently,  "  fire  ahead,  Dick." 

Conniston  did  so  at  once,  and  related  all  that  had 
hitherto  been  kept  from  Gore's  knowledge.  Bernard 
listened  in  silence,  save  for  an  occasional  ejaculation, 
which  showed  how  difficult  he  found  it  to  keep  his 
promise  not  to  interruj)t.  "  And  I  think  Mark  was 
about  right  to  keep  these  things  from  you,  Bernard," 
said  Conniston,  when  he  ended.  "  For  you  are  in  a  wax 
hearing  them  now." 

"  And  who  wouldn't  be  in  a  wax?  "  demanded  Gore, 
furiously.  "  Look  at  the  way  in  which  I  have  been 
treated.  Beryl  has  made  me  a  scape-goat  for  his  own 
wickedness.  I  have  been  compelled  to  hide  my  head. 
I  have  been  accused  of  an  awful  crime — my  reputation 
has  been  ruined.  I  should  think  I  am  furious,  and  I 
have  a  right  to  be." 

"  Bernard  I  Bernard !  "  said  Dick,  shaking  his  smooth 
head,  "  your  troubles  have  taught  you  little.  It  was 
your  furious  temper  that  led  you  to  fight  with  Sir 
Simon.  You  then  said  words  which  made  it  probable  to 
outsiders  that  you  committed  this  crime.  And  now, 
when  all  is  on  the  eve  of  being  cleared  up,  you  have  as 
bad  a  temper  as  ever." 

"  But  think  of  that  man  Michael  masquerading  as 
me,"  went  on  Bernard,  determined  to  speak  out.     "  It 


282  The  Red  JVindow 

was  bad  enough  in  London,  bnt  that  he  should  dare  to 
come  to  Alice — oh !  "  in  an  access  of  rage  he  shook  his 
fist.  Then  he  sat  down  to  recover  himself.  "  You  are 
right,  Dick,"  he  remarked,  wiping  his  forehead,  "  I'm  a 
fool.  I'll  never  learn  wisdom.  Heaven  knows  I  have 
had  a  severe  lesson.  I  will  try  and  control  this  beastly 
temper  of  mine.  But,  after  all,  seeing  that  I  love  Alice 
so  much,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  I  should  be 
annoyed  at  another  man  taking  my  place." 

"  He  didn't,"  replied  Conniston,  calmly  and  sooth- 
ingly. "  Miss  Malleson  guessed  the  truth  about  Imn 
straight  off.  She  has  only  used  him  as  an  instrument 
to  learn  what  she  could.  Don't  you  fuss,  Bernard. 
What  we  have  to  do  is  to  question  Judas,  and  see  if  he 
can  supplement  the  revelations  of  Michael,  your  half- 
brother." 

"  Don't  talk  about  that  fellow  being  my  half- 
brother." 

"Well,  he  is,  isn't  he?" 

"  Yes,  but — well,  I  suppose  I  should  rather  pity  than 
blame  the  chap." 

"  I  think  so  too,"  said  Dick  gravely.  "  Miss  Beren- 
garia  says  there  is  much  good  in  him.  She  intends  to 
assist  him  when  she  can." 

"  I  shall  help  him  also,"  said  Bernard,  after  a  pause. 
'•  The  poor  fellow  can't  help  his  birth,  and  I  owe  him 
something  for  the  way  in  which  my  father  behaved  to 
his  mother." 

"  This  is  a  change  of  temper,"  laughed  Conniston. 

"  Oh,  I  soon  get  into  a  rage  and  soon  get  over  it,'* 
rejoined  Gore,  impatiently.  "  But  we  must  examine 
this  boy,  Dick.  He  won't  answer  me  though.  I  have 
been  asking  him  plenty  of  questions." 


Young  Judas  283 


"  He'll  answer  me,"  said  Conniston,  rising.  "  I  know 
about  the  poisoning.    He  won't  face  that." 

"  But  did  he  reallv " 

"  Yes,  he  did.  I  told  you  he  was  an  imp  of  darkness, 
though,  to  be  sure,  I  never  expected  he'd  begin  to  mur- 
der people  at  his  tender  age.  Come  along,  Bernard, 
show  me  the  captive." 

Gore  led  the  way  from  the  room  and  along  a  narrow 
passage.  At  the  end  of  this  was  a  door,  which  he 
opened.  It  led  into  a  large  empty  room,  but  no  sooner 
was  the  door  opened,  than  a  small  boy  darted  out  and 
endeavored  to  get  away.  He  ran  straight  into  Connis- 
ton's  arms. 

"  Now  then,  young  Judas,"  said  Dick,  setting  the  boy 
on  his  legs  and  giving  him  a  good  shake.  "  Come  and 
be  tried." 

"  My  lord,"  gasped  Jerry,  who  was  pale  with  terror, 
and  who  had  red  eyes  and  disordered  hair. 

"  Yes!  I  know  all  about  your  poisoning,  young 
man." 

Jerry  dropped  on  his  knees.  "  I  didn't,"  he  declared, 
''  oh  lor,  I  really  didn't.  Miss  Plantagenet  ordered  the 
tea.     She  gave  me  the  cup  I " 

"  Here,"  said  Conniston,  giving  him  another  shake, 
"  stop  that  rubbish,  you  young  beast.  You  dare  to  say 
such  things  of  my  aunt,  who  has  been  so  kind  to  you. 
Hanging  is  too  good  for  such  a  scamp.  Come  along, 
and  answer  our  questions." 

But  Jerry,  grovelling  on  the  floor,  embraced  Con- 
niston's  riding-boots  in  an  agony  of  terror.  "  Oh, 
please,"  he  whimpered,  "  I  didn't  mean  to  do  any  harm. 
Mr.  Beryl  gave  me  some  wliite  stufl"  and  told  me  to  give 
if  in  tea  to  the  sick  gentleman.  I  thought  it  would  do 
him  good!  " 


284  The  Red  Window 

With  great  disgust  Dick  picked  up  the  young  liar  in 
his  arms  and  carried  him  kicking  to  the  sitting-room, 
followed  by  Bernard.  When  the  door  was  closed,  Ber- 
nard locked  it,  and  there  was  no  chance  of  Jerry  getting 
away,  as  the  window  was  thirty  feet  from  the  ground. 
Gore  took  a  seat  in  one  arm-chair  and  Conniston  threw 
himself  into  the  other,  after  flinging  Jerry  on  the 
hearth-rug.  The  boy  lay  there,  kicking  and  howling, 
nearly  out  of  his  wits  with  terror. 

"Shut  up!"  said  Dick,  sharply.  "You  have  to 
answer  questions." 

"  I  sha'n't,"  said  Jerry.     "  You'll  hang  me." 

"  There's  no  chance  of  that,  worse  luck,"  said  Con- 
niston, regretfully. 

On  hearing  this,  the  boy  sat  up.  "  Isn't  he  dead?  " 
he  asked  eagerly. 

"Oh!"  mocked  Bernard,  "and  you  thought  the 
white  stuff  would  do  the  sick  gentleman  good — you 
young  scoundrel!  No.  He  isn't  dead,  Lord  Conniston 
says,  but  small  thanks  to  you." 

"  Oh!  "  Jerry  seemed  at  once  relieved  and  disap- 
pointed.    "  I  won't  get  the  two  thousand  pounds  now." 

"  And  you  won't  be  hanged  either,  though  you  richly 
deserve  it." 

"  I  don't.    I've  done  nothing,"  said  Jerry,  sulkily. 

"  You  have  attempted  to  poison  Michael  Gilroy " 

"  Do  you  know  his  name,  Mr.  Grant?  " 

"  Yes!  And  you  know  mine.  Master  Jerry.  Come 
now,  you  must  reply  to  the  questions  which  Lord  Con- 
niston ^^dshes  to  put." 

"  Sha'n't,"  said  Jerry,  and  set  his  pretty,  tearful  face 
firmly. 

"  Judas,"  said  Conniston,  taking  his  riding-whip  from 


Young"  Judas  285 


a  near  table,  "  there's  only  one  course  to  be  pursued 
with  boys  like  you.  If  you  don't  speak  out,  I'll  give 
you  one  of  the  finest  thrashings  you  ever  had  in  your 
life." 

"  I'll  have  an  action  against  you  then,"  snapped 
Jerry,  very  pale. 

"  Certainly.  But  you'll  have  to  get  out  of  prison 
to  bring  it." 

"  Prison?  "  Jerry  quavered  and  shook  aU  over. 

"  Yes,  prison,"  mimicked  Conniston.  ^'  Do  you  think 
you  can  behave  like  a  young  criminal  and  get  off  scot 
free?" 

"  I  was  deceived  by  Mr.  Beryl.  He's  older  than  I 
am.    I  am  only  a  boy." 

"  You  are  old  enough  to  be  hanged,  at  all  events." 

"  You  said  I  wouldn't  be,  my  lord." 

"  That  depends  upon  my  good  word,"  said  Conniston, 
bluffing;  "  and  you  won't  have  that  unless  you  confess." 

*'  Confess  what,  my  lord?  " 

"  All  about  this  business  connected  with  Beryl,"  put 
in  Gore.  "  It  was  you  who  led  me  to  the  house  in 
Crunea  Square." 

"I  didn't — I  didn't!"  And  then  Jerry  uttered  a 
howl  as  Conniston's  whip  came  across  his  back. 

"  Hold  your  tongue  and  answer." 

"  How  can  I  hold  my  tongue  and  answer  at  the  same 
time,  my  lord  " 

Conniston  took  out  his  watch.  "  I'll  give  you  two 
minutes  to  make  up  your  mind  to  talk  sense.  You  arc 
clever  enough  when  it  suits  you.  If  3^ou  won't  speak, 
I'll  thrash  you  thoroughly,  and  then  take  you  up  to  be 
handed  to  the  police." 

"Andif  Ido,  mylord?" 


286  The  Red  JVindow 

"  I'll  spare  you  the  thrashing.  But  yon  must  go  to 
the  })olice.  You  are  being  enquired  for,  young  Judas. 
Only  by  confessing  the  whole  can  you  avoid  danger  to 
your  neck." 

"  Only  Mr.  Beryl  can  get  me  into  trouble,  and  you 
won't  find  him,"  said  Jerry,  tauntingly.  "  I  sent  Vic- 
toria to  him  with  a  letter  last  night,  and  she  must  have 
caught  the  eleven  train  to  London.  I  daresay  she  saw 
Mr.  Beryl  last  night,  and  he's  got  away." 

"  Why  did  you  act  so  promptly?  "  asked  Gore. 

"  Because  I  saw  you.  Sir  Bernard.  I  knew  the  game 
was  up,  and  that  you  were  playing  the  fool  with  Mr. 
Beryl  in  getting  that  will  signed." 

"  Ah!  so  we  all  were,"  said  Conniston,  calmly.  "  The 
game  is  up,  so  you  had  better  explain  your  share  in  it. 
Begin  from  the  time  you  were  kicked  out  of  Taberley's 
for  stealing." 

"  I  sha'n't,"  said  Jerrv.  "  I  don't  believe  vou  can 
hurt  me." 

Dick's  patience  was  exhausted.  He  caught  the  young 
wretch  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck  and  thrashed  him  thor- 
oughly. Jerry,  who  had  never  been  beaten  before  in 
his  life,  wept  and  howled  and  begged  for  mercy.  At 
last  Conniston  threw  him  again  on  the  rug  thoroughly 
cowed,  and  between  sobs  Jerry  expressed  his  willingness 
to  reply  to  whatever  questions  were  put  to  him.  The 
examination  was  conducted  as  though  Conniston  was  a 
barrister  and  Jerry  a  witness.  Bernard,  in  the  char- 
acter of  a  reporter,  went  to  the  writing-table  and  took 
notes.  Jerry  stood  wiping  his  eyes  and  replying  tear- 
fully. 

"  When  did  you  meet  Beryl?  "  asked  Dick. 

"  At  Taberley's.    He  knew  I  was  Mrs.  Moon's  grand- 


Young  Judas  287 


son,  as  he  saw  me  here  at  one  time.  When  I  was 
kicked  out,  he  promised  to  help  me.  I  was  told  to  watch 
Sir  Bernard,  and  I  did.  I  saw  yon,  my  lord,  with  Sir 
Bernard  in  the  Park.  I  was  always  watching  Sir  Ber- 
nard." 

"  I  see.  That  was  why  you  sold  matches.  Well,  and 
it  was  you  who  told  Beryl  that  Sir  Bernard  was  at  Mr. 
Durham's  house  on  that  night?" 

"  Yes,"  snuffled  Jerry.  "  I  saw  him  go  in.  I  then 
went  to  the  theatre,  and  Mr.  Beryl  came  out  to  see  me. 
I  told  him,  and  he  said  I  was  to  bring  Sir  Bernard  to 
the  Square." 

"  In  any  case,  Beryl  intended  Sir  Bernard  should  be 
brought  there  on  that  night? " 

"  Yes.    About  eleven  o'clock  or  a  little  earlier.    And 

I  waited  outside  on  that  night  and " 

"  You  needn't  explain  that,"  said  Gore,  turning  his 
head.  "  I  remember  how  you  drew  me  to  the  place. 
Did  Beryl  tell  you  to  speak  of  the  Red  Light?  " 

"  Yes.     He  said  you  would  come  if  I  talked  of  a 
lady  and  the  Red  Window.     And  Sir  Simon  had  ar- 
ranged the  red  light  with  a  lamp  and  a  handkerchief, 
Mr.  Beryl  told  me  aftersvards.    I  didn't  know  it  on  the 
night.    All  I  had  to  do  was  to  bring  you  to  the  Square." 
"  And  what  about  the  whistle  you  gave?  " 
"  That  was  to  let  Mr.  Beryl  know  you  were  outside?  " 
"  Was  Beryl  in  the  house  at  that  time?  " 
"  No,"  said  Jerry,  after  a  few  moments  of  thought. 
"  He  should  have  been  there,  but  he  afterwards  told 
me  that  he  had  come  earlier  and  had  gone  away." 
"  Did  he  intend  to  murder  Sir  Simon?  " 
"  I  can't  say,"  replied  the  boy,  doubtfully.     "  He 
made  that  chap,  Gilroy,  dress  up  as  you,  and  court  the 


288  The  Red  Window 

liousemaid.  His  idea  was  to  get  Sir  Simon  to  think  you 
were  making  love  to  Jane.  I  think  he  wished  to  bring 
jou  to  the  house,  so  that  on  seeing  the  red  light  you 
might  go  in,  and  then  Sir  Simon  would  have  quarrelled 
with  you  for  loving  Jane.  I  don't  think  he  intended 
murder.  But  Michael  Gilroy  came  and  saw  Sir  Simon, 
and  then  bolted  when  he  saw  the  Italian,  thinking  he 
was  a  detective.  He  told  Mr.  Beryl  that  the  next 
day!  " 

"  Who  came  to  the  house  on  that  night,  Jerry?  State 
the  time  they  came  also." 

Jerry  thought  again.  "  The  Italian  came  first,  and 
while  he  was  in  the  room,  about  ten  I  think,  Michael 
came.  Then  Michael  bolted,  and  the  Italian  followed. 
Then  shortly  after  ten  Mr.  Beryl  came  from  the 
theatre " 

'"  Did  you  sec  him?  " 

"  JSTo,"  rejoined  Jerry,  tartly.  "How  could  I?  I 
was  leading  you  then." 

"  Didn't  you  see  Beryl  at  all  that  night — I  mean 
again  after  you  saw  him  to  tell  him  where  Sir  Bernard 
was?  " 

"  Yes,  I  did,"  said  Jerry,  rubbing  his  legs  which  were 
sore.  "  I  may  as  well  tell  the  truth.  Just  as  we  turned 
into  Crimea  Square,  Sir  Bernard,  I  brushed  past  Mr. 
Beryl." 

"  How  could  you  recognize  him  in  the  fog?  " 

"  I  did.  I  saw  him  under  a  lamp.  He  was  going 
back  to  the  theatre  and  was  very  pale.  Then  I  cut  to 
look  after  Sir  Bernard.  I  gave  the  whistle  and  then  I 
cleared.  Next  day  Mr.  Beryl  told  me  all  that  had  taken 
place." 

"  Did  you  think  he  had  committed  the  crime?  " 


Young"  Judas  289 


"  Ko,  I  thought  that  IVIichael  had.  He  had  forged  a 
check,  and  I  thought  that  he  would  quarrel  with  Sir 
Simon  and  kill  him." 

The  boy  spoke  in  all  earnestness,  so  apparently  Julius 
had  been  clever  enough  to  keep  the  fact  of  his  own 
guilt  secret.  But  for  the  handkerchief  it  would  have 
been  difficult  to  have  accused  him.  Conniston  asked  a 
final  question.     "  How  much  do  you  get  for  all  this?  " 

"  Two  thousand  pounds  if  Michael  died." 

"  If  you  poisoned  him?  "  asked  Bernard. 

"  Yes,"  said  Jerry,  sulkily.  "  I  did  intend  to  poison 
him,  as  I  wanted  the  two  thousand  pounds.  I  came  on 
here,  and  was  then  going  to  hide  in  London.  After 
that,  I  should  have  sent  for  Victoria,  and  when  Mr. 
Beryl  paid,  we  would  have  gone  to  America." 

"  And  why  didn't  you  carry  out  this  clever  plan?  " 
asked  Gore. 

Jerry  turned  still  more  sulky.  "  Because  I  saw  you, 
and  then  I  knew  the  game  was  up.  Even  if  Michael 
had  died,  you  would  have  been  able  to  claim  the  prop- 
erty." 

"  Then  Beryl  really  believed  I  was  dead?  " 

"  Yes,  he  did — so  did  I.  When  Victoria  wrote  me 
that  you  were  here,  I  thought  you  w^ere  Michael.  And 
when  Michael  came  over  to  the  Bower,  I  thought  he 
had  come  from  here.    If  I  had  known  the  truth " 

"  Well?  "  said  Bernard,  dryly. 

Jerry  smiled  amiably.  "  I'd  have  chucked  Mr. 
Beryl  and  offered  to  prove  your  innocence  if  you  gave 
me  the  two  thousand.  No,"  added  Jerry,  with  a  charm- 
ing smile,  "  I'd  have  asked  three  thousand  from  you." 

The  young  men  looked  at  one  another  in  wonder  at 
this  precocious  criminality.  "  Can  you  prove  my  inno- 
cence?" asked  Bernard. 


290  The  Red  J^^ndow 

"  Yes,"  said  Jerry. 

"  You  know  who  killed  Sir  Simon?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do.  But  I  won't  tell  till  I  have  seen  Beryl," 
and  this  was  all  they  could  get  out  of  him,  in  spite  of 
threats  of  further  whippings  and  cajolings.  So  Jerry 
was  taken  back  to  his  room,  and  Bernard  arranged  with 
Conniston  that  the  boy  should  be  taken  to  London  that 
very  day. 

"  And  then,  when  Durham  lets  me  know,  I'll  sur- 
sender  myself.  But  I  wonder  who  killed  my  grand- 
father after  all." 

"  Julius  Beryl,"  said  Conniston. 

"  Hum!  I  don't  know.  This  boy  seems  to  have  some 
idea.  I  tell  you  what,  Dick,  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if 
the  boy  did  it  himself." 


CHAPTER  XXII 


THE   TKUTH 


The  arrest  of  Sir  Bernard  Gore  made  a  great  sen- 
sation. It  was  generally  supposed  that  he  was  dead, 
and  his  unexpected  appearance  surprised  every  one. 
Also,  as  he  was  believed  to  be  guilty,  the  public  was 
amazed  that  he  should  thus  thrust  himself  into  jeop- 
ardy. But  more  thoughtful  people  saw  in  Gore's  sur- 
render a  proof  of  his  innocence,  and  argued  very 
rightly  that  were  he  guilty  of  the  murder  of  Sir  Simon, 
he  would  not  come  forward  as  he  had  done  to  stand  his 
trial. 

An  additional  surprise  came  in  the  arrest  of  Michael, 
who  was  said  to  be  the  half-brother  of  Gore,  and  to 
resemble  him  very  closely.  A  rumor  got  about — no 
one  knew  how — that  this  resemblance  between  the  two 
would  be  made  the  basis  of  the  defence.  Also,  the  boy, 
Jerry  Moon,  who  was  implicated  in  the  matter,  was  in 
charge  of  the  police,  and  it  was  expected  that  he  would 
make  startling  revelations.  On  the  whole,  there  was 
every  chance  that  the  forthcoming  trial  would  be  ex- 
tremely interesting.  Every  one  looked  forward  with 
great  expectation  to  the  time  when  Sir  Bernard  would 
be  placed  in  the  dock.  Inspector  Groom,  formerly  in 
charge  of  the  case,  was  now  attending  to  the  matter 
again.  He  said  very  little,  although  the  reporters  tried 
to  make  him  give  his  opinion.    But,  from  the  few  words 


292  The  Red  Window 

he  let  drop,  it  would  seem  that  he  believed  firmly  in  the 
innocence  of  the  accused  man. 

"  I  don't  see  anything  about  Beryl  in  the  papers," 
said  Conniston,  when  at  Durham's  office. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  say  about  him  at  present," 
replied  the  lawyer.  "  We  have  not  caught  him  yet, 
and  perhaps  never  may." 

"  Victoria  warned  him,  then?  " 

"  Yes.  That  imp  of  a  boy  wrote  a  letter  stating  that 
Bernard  was  at  Cove  Castle,  and  advising  flight.  Vic- 
toria caught  a  train  shortly  before  eleven  and  came 
straight  to  Beryl's  rooms,  the  address  of  which  she  re- 
ceived from  Jerry.  Beryl — as  Jerry  had  done — saw 
that  the  game  was  up,  and  realized  that  we,  knowing 
Gore  to  be  alive,  had  been  simply  playing  with  the  im- 
posture of  Michael.  He  bolted  that  same  night  and 
managed  to  cross  to  the  Continent.  At  least,  we  sup- 
pose so,  as  no  trace  of  him  can  be  found." 

"  What  will  you  do  about  him,  then?  " 

Durham  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  There  is  notliing 
can  be  done,"  he  answered.  "  With  the  evidence  of 
]\richael,  Jerry  and  Miss  Randolph  and  Tolomeo,  we 
shall  be  able  to  prove  Bernard's  innocence  and  his 
cousin's  guilt.  Bernard  will  be  set  free  without  a  stain 
on  his  character.  But  as  to  how  Beryl  will  be  arrested, 
or  whether  he  will  ever  be  punished,  I  am  unable  to  give 
an  opinion." 

"What  about  Mrs.  Gilroy?  " 

"  Ah,  we  want  her.  But  we  cannot  find  out  where 
she  is.  Even  her  son  doesn't  know.  He  would  speak 
out  if  he  did  know,  as  I  fancy  he  is  sincerely  repentant 
for  the  trouble  this  new  edition  of  the  Corsican 
Brothers  has  caused." 


The  Truth  893 


"  But  had  you  not  some  plan  to  lure  Mrs.  Gilroy  out 
of  her  hiding?  " 

Durham  searched  amongst  his  papers  and  produced  a 
journal.    "  Read  that,"  said  he,  pointing  to  a  column. 

It  was  an  article  dealing  with  the  case,  in  which  the 
writer  hinted  that  Michael  was  guilty  and  Bernard  inno- 
cent. It  was  also  stated  that  Michael  would  certainly 
be  put  in  the  dock,  and  that  sufficient  evidence  was  in 
the  power  of  the  jirosecution  to  procure  his  condemna- 
tion. The  whole  article  was  written  strongly,  and  after 
reading  it,  Conniston,  had  he  not  known  the  true  facts 
of  the  case,  would  have  fancied  Michael  guilty.  He  said 
as  much.    Durham  smiled. 

"  That  is  exactly  the  feeling  I  wish  to  convey  to  Mrs. 
Gilroy,"  he  declared,  taking  back  the  paper.  "  She,  if 
any  one,  can  prove  the  guilt  of  Beryl,  but  for  some 
reason — perhaps  for  money — she  is  hiding.  If  she 
reads  that  paragraph  she  Mdll  at  once  come  forward  to 
save  her  son,  and  then  we'll  be  able  to  prove  Beryl's 
guilt  beyond  a  doubt." 

"  But  she  may  not  take  in  the  particular  journal," 
said  Conniston. 

"  Oh,  this  is  only  one  paper.  Within  the  next  few 
days  that  article  will  be  copied  in  every  newspaper  in 
London.  Mrs.  Gilroy  is  bound,  wherever  she  is,  to  hear 
of  the  arrest  of  her  son,  and  of  Bernard  giving  himself 
uj).  To  learn  what  is  taking  place  she  will  read  what- 
ever papers  she  can  get  hold  of.  Then  she  will  see  that 
article,  and  if  it  doesn't  bring  her  forward  to  save 
Michael  and  condemn  Beryl,  I  am  very  much  mis- 
taken." 

"  It  sounds  rather  like  contempt  of  court,"  said  Dick, 
gravely. 


294  The  Red  TVindow 

Durham  laughed.  "  It  is,  in  a  way.  Every  man  has 
a  right  to  be  considered  innocent  in  English  law  until 
his  guilt  is  proved.  But  I  arranged  with  Scotland  Yard 
that  this  article  should  appear  in  the  hope  that  Mrs. 
Gilroy — an  important  witness,  mind  you — should  be 
brought  forward.  I  can't  exactly  tell  you  all  the  details, 
but  you  may  be  sure  that  the  thing  has  been  done 
legally.  Besides,"  argued  Durham,  calmly,  "  seeing  we 
have  such  a  strong  proof  of  Beryl's  guilt,  there  is  no 
doubt  that  ]\Iichael  will  have  a  fair  trial." 

"  I  say,"  said  Conniston,  rising  to  take  his  leave,  "  do 
you  know  it's  Bernard's  idea  that  Jerry  might  have 
committed  the  crime.  It  seems  to  me  that  Beryl  is  too 
great  a  coward  to  do  it  himself." 

"  Stuff!  "  said  Durham,  quite  in  the  style  of  Miss 
Berengaria.  "  The  boy  could  not  have  possibly 
strangled  the  old  man.  He  was  leading  Bernard  to  the 
Square  to  within  a  few  minutes  of  the  time  when  Mrs. 
Gilroy  came  out  shouting  murder.  IsTo,  Conniston, 
Beryl  is  the  man,  as  is  proved  by  his  handkerchief.  He 
came  to  the  house  immediately  Tolomeo  left,  since  he 
passed  that  man  in  the  Square.  The  boy  saw  him  de- 
parting, after  Bernard  was  lured  to  be  on  the  spot. 
Beryl  was  hurrying  back  to  the  theatre  to  arrange  for 
his  alibi.  Everything  was  beautifully  arranged.  But 
for  the  discovery  of  Michael,  we  might  have  learned 
nothing.  Also  Tolomeo's  evidence  is  valuable.  Mrs. 
Gilroy,  having  been  in  the  house  at  the  time,  is  the 
woman  who  knows  all.  Doubtless  Beryl  threatened  to 
denounce  her  son,  and  that  was  why  she  accused  Ber- 
nard, counting  on  the  resemblance  to  carry  the  matter 
through." 

"  What  an  infernally  wicked  woman!  "  said  Dick, 
angrily. 


The  Truth  295 


"  Oh !  not  at  all.  Mrs.  Gilroy  is  a  mother,  and  she 
naturally  would  sacrifice  the  whole  world  to  save  her 
son.  Besides,  she  may  have  acted  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment,  and  then  had  to  go  on  with  the  matter." 

"  Well,"  said  Conniston,  putting  on  his  hat,  "  I  sin- 
cerely hope  your  net  will  caj^ture  her." 

"  It  is  sure  to.  A  woman  who  would  try  and  save 
her  son  by  accusing  an  innocent  man  would  not  remain 
quiet  to  see  him  hanged.  By  the  way,  Miss  Berengaria 
is  in  town,  I  believe?  " 

"  Yes,  with  Miss  Randolph  and  Alice.  They  are  stop- 
ping at  the  Waterloo  Hotel,  Guelph  Street.  I  believe 
they  expect  you  along  to  dinner  this  evening." 

Durham  nodded.  "  I  received  a  note  from  the  old 
lady,  and  intend  to  come.  By  the  way,  Dick,  I  hope 
you  are  fascinating  her.  Remember,  she  can  leave  you 
five  thousand  a  year,  and  can't  last  much  longer." 

"  I  believe  Miss  Berengaria  will  see  her  century," 
said  Dick.  "  Besides,  now  you  have  my  aflFairs  in  order, 
I  have  enough  to  live  on." 

"  But  not  enough  to  marry  on,"  said  Durham,  sig- 
nificantly. 

Conniston  flushed.  "  If  you  speak  of  Lucy,"  he  said, 
"  she  has  a  little  money  of  her  own,  and  our  two  in- 
comes will  keep  us  alive." 

"  It  won't  keep  up  the  dignity  of  the  title." 

''  Oh,  the  deuce  take  the  dignity  of  that,"  said  Con- 
niston, carelessly.  ''  In  this  democratic  age  who  cares 
for  titles?" 

"  The  Americans,  Dick.    You  ought  to  marry  one." 

"  I'll  marry  Lucy,  who  is  the  sweetest  girl  in  the 
world,"  said  Dick,  firmly.  "  We  understand  one  an- 
other, and  as  soon  as  this  business  is  over,  Mark " 


296  The  Red  Window 

"  You  will  marry." 

"  No.    Bernard  and  I  will  go  out  to  the  Front." 

"  What!    Does  Bernard  say  that?  " 

"  Yes.  He  intends  to  go  back  to  his  Imperial  Yeo- 
manry uniform,  and  I  honor  him  for  it,"  said  Dick,  with 
some  heat.  "  Bernard  is  not  the  man  to  sneak  out  of 
doing  his  duty.  And  Miss  Malleson  approves.  I  go  out 
to  the  Front  also,  and  daresay  I  shall  manage  to  get  a 
place  of  sorts,  from  which  to  take  pot-shots  at  the 
enemy." 

"  But,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Durham,  much  dis- 
turbed, "  you  may  be  killed." 

"  '  l^aught  was  never  in  danger,'  "  said  Conniston, 
opening  the  door.  "  You  get  Bernard  out  of  this 
scrape,  Mark,  and  then  come  and  see  us  start.  We'll 
return  covered  with  glory." 

"  And  without  legs  or  arms,"  said  Durham,  crossly. 
"  Just  as  if  Bernard  hadn't  enough  danger,  he  must 
needs  run  his  head  into  more.  Go  away,  Dick.  It's 
your  feather  brain  that  has  made  him  stick  to  his  guns." 

"  j^ot  a  bit,"  retorted  Conniston,  slipping  out,  "  it's 
Bernard's  own  idea.  Good-bye,  Mark.  I  hope  you  will 
recover  your  temper  by  the  time  we  meet  at  Aunt 
Berengaria's  hospitable  table." 

Things  fell  out  as  Durham  prophesied.  The  article 
was  published  in  all  the  London  and  country  journals, 
and  provoked  both  praise  and  blame.  Many  said  that 
it  was  wrong  to  hint  that  a  man  was  guilty  before  he 
had  been  tried.  Others  pointed  to  the  sufferings  that 
the  innocent  Bernard  Gore  had  undergone,  and  insisted 
that  even  before  the  trial  his  name  should  be  cleared. 
Those  in  authority  took  no  notice  of  the  storm  thus 
raised,  which  seemed  to  confirm  Durham's  statement 


The  Truth  297 


that  the  article  had  been  inspired  from  high  legal 
quarters.  But  the  result  of  the  publication  and  discus- 
sion of  the  matter  was  that  one  day  a  woman  came  to 
see  Durham  at  his  office. 

The  moment  she  entered  he  guessed  who  she  was, 
even  although  she  was  veiled.  Clothed  from  head  to 
foot  in  black,  and  looking  tragic  enough  for  a  Muse, 
poor  soul,  for  certainly  she  had  cause,  Mrs.  Gilroy 
raised  her  veil  and  examined  the  keen  face  of  the 
lawyer. 

"  You  did  not  expect  to  see  me? "  she  asked,  taking 
the  seat  he  pointed  to  silently. 

Durham  was  not  going  to  tell  her  that  the  article  had 
been  published  to  draw  her  forth,  as  she  might  have 
taken  flight  and  suspected  a  trap. 

"  It  is  a  surprise,"  he  said  artfully.  "  And  I  am  at 
a  loss  to  understand  why  you  have  come." 

"  To  save  my  son,"  said  Mrs.  Gilroy,  looking  at  him 
with  haggard  eyes. 

"  Michael  Gilroy?  " 

*'  Michael  Gore.    He  has  a  right  to  his  father's  name. 

"  Pardon  me,  I  think  not.  Bernard  Gore  is  the 
heir." 

"Ah!"  said  the  woman,  bitterly,  and  clasping  her 
hands  with  a  swift,  nervous  gesture.  "  He  has  all  the 
luck — the  title — the  money — the " 

"  You  must  admit,"  said  Durham,  politely,  "  that  he 
had  had  very  bad  luck  for  the  most  part." 

"  His  own  foolishness  is  the  cause  of  it." 

"  Did  you  come  to  tell  me  this?  " 

Mrs.  Gilroy  sat  quite  still  for  a  moment,  and  Dur- 
ham noticed  that  even  what  good  looks  she  had  were 
gone.    Her  cheeks  were  fallen  in,  her  eyes  were  sunken, 


298  The  Red  Window 

her  drab  hair  was  streaked  with  white,  and  her  face 
wore  a  terrible  expression  of  despair  and  sorrow.  "  I 
have  come  to  tell  you  all  I  know,"  she  said.  "  I  would 
not  do  so,  save  for  two  things.  One  is,  that  I  wish  to 
save  my  son,  who  is  absolutely  innocent;  the  other,  that 
I  am  dying." 

"  Dying?    I  hope  not." 

"  I  am  dying,"  said  Mrs.  Gilroy,  firmly.  "  I  have 
suffered  for  many  years  from  an  incurable  disease — it 
doesn't  matter  what.  But  I  cannot  live  long,  and,  but 
for  my  son,  I  should  have  ended  my  miserable  life  long 
ago,  owing  to  the  pain  I  suffer.  Oh  the  pain — the  pain 
— the  pain !  "  she  moaned,  rocking  to  and  fro  as  Michael 
had  done. 

Durham  was  sincerely  sorry  for  her,  although  he 
knew  she  was  not  a  good  woman.  "  Let  me  get  you 
some  brandy,"  he  said. 

"  1^0,"  replied  Mrs.  Gilroy,  waving  her  hand.  "  Call 
in  some  clerk  who  can  take  down  what  I  have  to  say.  I 
will  probably  speak  quickly,  as  my  strength  will  not  last 
long.  I  have  come  from  an  hospital  to  see  you.  Get  a 
clerk  who  writes  rapidly,  and  be  quick." 

Durham  called  in  a  clerk  and  gave  the  order,  then 
turned  to  his  client.  "  AVas  it  on  account  of  going  to 
the  hospital  that  you  left  Gore  Hall?  "  he  asked. 

Mrs.  Gilroy,  still  rocking,  bowed  her  head.  "  Did 
you  want  me?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  wanted  to  tell  you  that  Michael  came  to  Miss 
Berengaria's  to " 

"  Michael.    He  came  there.     Why?  " 

"  To  pass  himself  off  as  Bernard." 

"  Ah,  that  was  part  of  Beryl's  scheme  to  get  the 
money." 


The  Truth  299 


"  Was  it  part  of  his  scheme  to  poison  Michael  ?  " 
said  Durham. 

Mrs.  Gilroy  started  to  her  feet,  flushed  with  anger. 

"  Did  he  do  that,  Mr.  Durham? "  she  asked.  "  Did 
he  dare  to " 

"  Yes.  He  got  Michael  to  sign  a  will  as  Bernard, 
leaving  all  the  money  to  him,  and  then  employed  Jerry 
to  poison  him.  Jerry  should  not  have  done  so  for  two 
or  three  days,  but  he  was  eager  to  get  away,  as  he  was 
afraid  of  being  found  out,  so  he  poisoned  your  son 
within  a  few  hours  of  the  signing  of  the  false  will." 

"  The  villain  !  "  said  Mrs.  Gilroy,  thinking  of  Beryl, 
''  But  he  shall  not  escape.  I  have  come  to  tell  you  all. 
I  wish  I  could  see  him  hanged.  He  is  the  cause  of  all 
the  trouble.  I  saw  in  the  papers  that  Sir  Bernard  was 
alive,"  she  added;  "  how  did  he  escape  ?  " 

"  He  swam  across  the  river  and  went  down  to  Cove 
Castle.    We  knew  all  the  time  he  was  there  in  hiding." 

"  Who  knew  ?  " 

"  Myself,  Lord  Conniston,  Miss  Berengaria  and  Miss 
Malleson." 

"  So  you  played  \vith  Michael  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Gilroy, 
drawing  a  breath. 

"  Yes.  Miss  Malleson  and  Miss  Plantagenet  both 
knew  he  was  not  the  true  Bernard.  Your  hint  about 
your  son  being  like  his  father  showed  me  who  Michael 
was,  and  I  told  the  others.  Yes,  Mrs.  Gilroy,  I  allowed 
Michael  to  sign  the  false  will,  so  as  to  trap  Beryl.  But, 
believe  me,  had  I  known  Beryl  intended  to  poison  your 
son,  I  should  not  have  allowed  the  matter  to  go  so  far." 

"  You  could  do  nothing  else,"  said  Mrs.  Gilroy,  sadly. 
"Both  Michael  and  myself  have  suffered.     I  was  de- 


300  The  Red  Window 

ceived  by  a  false  marriage,  and  the  sins  of  the  father 
have  been  visited  on  the  child." 

"  That  is  true  enough,"  said  Durham.  "  But  for  the 
sin  of  Walter  Gore,  Michael,  with  his  wonderful  resem- 
blance to  Bernard,  would  not  have  been  born,  and  Beryl 
would  not  have  been  able  to  plot  as  he  did." 

"  Well  !  well  !  He  is  an  exile  and  has  been  pun- 
ished." 

"  When  you  can  prove  his  guilt,  as  I  suppose  you  in- 
tend to  do,"  said  the  lawyer,  grimly,  "  I'll  do  my  best 
to  have  him  brought  back  and  hanged.  You  Avill  be 
pleased  at  that." 

Mrs.  Gilroy  laughed  in  a  hollow  manner,  and  cast  a 
strange  look  at  the  lawyer.  "  I  should  be  pleased  in- 
deed," she  said,  "  but  there's  no  such  luck.  Hanging  is 
not  Beryl's  dukkeripen." 

"  That's  a  gypsy  word." 

"  I  was  found  and  brought  up  by  gypsies,"  said  Mrs. 
Gilroy,  indifferently,  "  although  I  am  not  of  Romany 
blood.  But  I  learned  a  few  secrets  from  the  Romany," 
added  Mrs.  Gilroy,  her  eyes  flashing,  "  and  one  of  them 
relating  to  drabbing — if  you  know  what  that  means — 
may  come  in  useful  this  day." 

"  What  does  drabbing  mean  ?  " 

"  It  has  to  do  with  drows,"  said  Mrs.  Gilroy,  laugh- 
ing and  rocking.  "  I  daresay  you'll  know  the  meaning 
of  both  words  before  the  end  of  this  day."  And  she 
began  to  sing  softly : — 

"  '  The  Romany  cha. 
And  the  Romany  chal. 
Shall  jaw  tasulor. 
To  drab  the  bawlor, 
And  dook  the  gry.'  " 


The  Truth  301 


Durham  thought  that  her  illness  had  affected  her 
head.  He  did  not  saj  anything,  but  resolved  to  get  her 
examination  over  as  quickly  as  possible.  A  clerk  en- 
tered at  the  moment,  carrying  a  typewriting  machine, 
which  he  set  down  on  a  small  table  near  at  hand. 

"  I  think  it  will  be  best  that  your  words  should  be 
taken  down  by  the  machine,"  said  Durham,  turning  to 
Mrs.  Gilroy,  "'  as  the  writer  can  keep  up  with  your 
speech." 

"  As  you  please,"  said  Mrs.  Gilroy,  coolly.  "  I  have 
to  sign  my  statement  in  the  presence  of  witnesses,  you 
and  this  young  man." 

"  But  why  do  you " 

"  There,  there,"  said  the  woman,  impatiently,  "  don't 
I  tell  you  I  have  very  little  strength  left.  Are  you 
ready?  " 

"  Yes,  madam,"  said  the  clerk,  who  was  addressed. 

"  Then  don't  interrupt.  I  am  about  to  tell  you 
strange  things,"  and  she  began  forthwith,  the  clerk  tak- 
ing down  all  she  said  as  quickly  as  she  spoke.  Durham, 
pencil  in  hand,  made  a  note  occasionally. 

"  I  am  a  foundling,"  said  Mrs.  Gilroy,  smoothly  and 
swiftly.  "  I  was  picked  up  by  some  gypsies  called 
Lovel,  in  the  I^ew  Forest.  I  was  with  them  till  I 
came  of  age.  I  was  then  a  pretty  girl.  In  our  wander- 
ings we  came  to  Hurseton.  There  I  saw  Walter  Gore 
at  a  fair.  I  did  not  know  he  was  married,  as  we  stopped 
at  Hurseton  only  a  short  time.  We  went  away.  Wal- 
ter followed  and  said  he  loved  me.  He  married  me  at 
last.  We  went  abroad — then  came  back  to  London. 
When  my  child,  Michael,  was  born,  I  learned  the  truth, 
for  Walter  had  deserted  me.  I  went  down  to  Hurseton 
to  see  Sir  Simon.  He  sent  me  to  the  States  with 
Michael,  my  son.    Walter  sent  me  money." 


302  The  Red  Window 


"  This  is  slightly  different  to  what  Michael  said," 
remarked  Durham.  "  I  understood  that  you  never  saw 
Sir  Simon  till  you  returned  from  the  States." 

"  Michael  doesn't  know  everything,"  said  Mrs.  Gil- 
roy,  impatiently.  "  I  tell  my  own  story  in  my  own  way. 
Do  not  interrupt.  I  remained  in  the  States  for  a  long 
time.  Then  Walter  died,  and  his  true  wife  also.  I 
came  to  see  Sir  Simon  again.  He  was  sorry  for  me, 
and  offered  to  make  me  the  housekeeper  at  Gore  Hall,, 
which  should  have  been  my  home,  but  he  insisted  that 
Michael  should  return  to  the  States.  My  boy  did  so, 
in  charge  of  some  friends.  Sir  Simon  promised  to  give 
me  five  hundred  a  year  when  he  died,  so  that  I  could 
help  my  boy.  He  only  left  me  one  hundred,  the  mean 
villain !  I  supported  my  son  out  of  my  wages.  He  grew 
weary  of  the  States  and  came  to  England.  Sir  Simon 
was  angry,  but  he  got  him  a  situation  in  London,  on 
condition  that  the  boy  never  came  to  Hurseton.  That 
was  why  no  one  knew  there  was  any  one  resembling  Sir 
Bernard  so  closely.  Well,  in  London  Michael  fell  in 
with  Julius  Beryl " 

"  I  know  all  that,"  said  Durham,  quickly.  "  Michael 
told  me.  I  know  he  was  employed  by  Beryl  to  imper- 
sonate Bernard  so  that  Sir  Simon's  anger  should  be 
aroused." 

"  Well,  then,  you  know  a  good  deal,"  said  Mrs.  Gil- 
roy,  "  but  not  all.  Ko,  indeed,"  she  added,  smiling 
strangely,  "  not  all." 

"  Tell  me  the  events  of  that  night,  and  how  Beryl 
killed  Sir  Simon." 

Mrs.  Gilroy  laughed  again.  "  I  am  coming  to  that. 
You  will  be  much  surprised  when  I  tell  you  all.  Ber- 
nard was  in  town  as  a  soldier;  Beryl  got  Michael  to 


The  Truth  303 


masquerade.  I  never  knew  it  was  my  own  son  who 
courted  Jane  Riordan.  Had  I  known,  I  should  have 
put  a  stop  to  the  business.  I  really  thought  from  the 
description  given,  that  Jane's  lover  was  Bernard.  I 
wanted  Sir  Simon,  whom  I  told,  to  throw  over  Bernard 
and  let  my  son  have  the  property.  He  would  have  done 
so,  but  that  Michael  had  forged  a  check " 

"  I  know  about  that  also." 

^'  Very  good.  We  will  pass  that,"  said  the  woman. 
"Well,  Sir  Simon  was  angry.  I  saw  there  was  no 
chance  for  my  boy,  and  cast  about  how  else  to  get  the 
money  for  him.  Beryl  informed  me  that  he  intended  by 
means  of  the  Red  Window  and  Jerry  to  lure  Bernard 
to  the  Square,  in  the  hope  that  when  he  saw  the  red 
light  he  would  come  up  and  have  a  quarrel  with  his 
grandfather." 

"  What  about  ?  "  asked  Durham. 

"  About  Bernard's  supposed  courting  of  the  house- 
maid. That  was  why  Beryl  employed  my  son  to  mas- 
querade. He  knew  that  Sir  Simon  was  a  proud  man, 
and  would  not  readily  forgive  such  a  thing.  He  knew 
Sir  Simon  was  regretting  his  quarrel  with  Bernard,  and 
wished  to  give  it  renewed  life.  Well,  then.  Beryl  ar- 
ranged to  go  to  the  theatre.  He  said  he  would  come 
round  after  ten  or  near  eleven  to  see  if  the  old  man  had 
quarrelled  with  Bernard.  He  hoped  that  he  would  be 
able  to  get  the  order  to  turn  Bernard  out.  He  did  not 
know,  though,  at  what  time  Bernard  would  arrive.  But 
when  he  did,  I  was  to  open  the  door  to  him." 

"  Jerry's  whistle  was  to  be  the  signal,"  said  the  law- 
yer. 

"  Yes.  Then  I  was  to  show  Bernard  up,  and  the 
quarrel  would  then  take  place." 


304  The  Red  JVindow 

"  Beryl  did  not  really  intend  murder,  then? " 

"  Mr.  Durham,  you  will  harp  on  that,"  said  Mrs. 
Gilroy,  impatiently.  "  Wait  till  I  speak  out.  You  see 
how  matters  were  arranged  for  that  night.  Miss  Ran- 
dolph and  Beryl  went  to  the  theatre  so  that  they  should 
not  be  mixed  up  in  the  quarrel." 

"  But  Miss  Randolph  knew  nothing  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not.  Beryl  knew  she  was  friendly  to 
Bernard,  and  mshed  her  out  of  the  way.  For  that 
reason,  he  took  her  to  the  theatre.  I  then  suggested 
to  Sir  Simon  that  probably  Bernard  knew  of  the  house 
from  you,  and  might  come  back.  Sir  Simon  had  sent 
for  him  to  the  kitchen,  but  my  son,  being  afraid,  ran 
away.  Sir  Simon  laughed  at  the  idea  of  the  red  lamp, 
but  he  did  not  forbid  my  arranging  it.  I  got  a  lamp 
and  placed  it  before  the  mndow.  Then  I  placed  across 
the  mndow  a  red  bandana  of  Sir  Simon's.  From  the 
outside  the  signal  could  be  plainly  seen." 

"  What  happened  next  ?  "  asked  Durham,  while  the 
typewriter  clicked  in  a  most  cheerful  manner. 

"  Various  things,''  retorted  Mrs.  Gilroy,  "  and  not 
those  you  expect  to  hear.  I  sat  downstairs,  waiting  and 
working.  Sir  Simon  was  in  the  room  with  the  red 
light  showing  through  the  window.  The  trap  was  laid. 
It  only  remained  for  Jerry  to  bring  Bernard  to  fall 
into  it.     Shortly  before  ten  an  Italian  called." 

"  Bernard's  uncle,  Signor  Tolomeo  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  knew  him,  and  took  him  up  to  Sir  Simon, 
thinking  his  presence  might  make  the  quarrel  worse. 
All  Beryl  and  I  ^vished  to  do  was  to  prevent  Bernard 
and  Sir  Simon  from  becoming  reconciled.  Well,  Tolo- 
meo saw  Sir  Simon,  and  while  he  was  with  him,  mv  son 
arrived.     I  asked  him  what  he  was  doing  there.     He 


The  Truth  005 


told  me  then  that  he  had  been  masquerading  as  Ber- 
nard, and  informed  me  about  the  check.  He  was  afraid 
of  trouble  in  connection  with  it,  as  by  means  of  it, 
Beryl  held  him  in  his  power.  He  came  to  make  a  clean 
breast  of  it  to  Sir  Simon.  I  tried  to  stop  him  going 
up " 

"  But  why  ?  "  interrupted  the  lawyer,  quickly. 

"  I  had  my  own  plans,  with  which  Michael's  presence 
interfered,"  said  Mrs,  Gilroy,  coolly.  "  However,  he 
would  not  be  overruled,  and  went  up  to  see  Sir  Simon. 
The  old  man  concealed  Tolomeo  behind  a  curtain,  and 
then  quarrelled  wdth  Michael  about  the  check.  There 
was  a  great  row,  as  Sir  Simon  threatened  to  have 
Michael  arrested.  In  the  middle  of  the  quarrel  Tolo- 
meo came  out.  Michael  took  him  for  a  detective,  and 
fled.  He  ran  out  before  I  could  stop  him.  Then  Tolo- 
meo departed  also.  I  went  up  the  stairs  and  implored 
Sir  Simon  not  to  arrest  my  son.  Then  Beryl  arrived 
nearly  at  the  half  hour," 

"  How  did  he  enter  ?  " 

"  Tolomeo,  running  after  Michael,  left  the  door  open. 
Beryl  tried  to  pacify  the  old  man.  I  remained  in  the 
room  all  the  time " 

"  Then  you  saw  the  murder." 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  said  Mrs.  Gilroy,  rising  in  the 
excitement  of  her  tale,  "  Beryl  and  the  old  man  quar- 
relled. Then  Sir  Simon  told  him  to  go  back  to  the  thea- 
tre. Beryl,  thinking  lie  had  offended  Sir  Simon  past 
recall,  wept.  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Gilroy,  with  a  sneer, 
"  he  cried  like  a  child.  Sir  Simon  was  disgusted.  He 
snatched  his  handkerchief  from  him,  and  threw  it  on 
the  floor.  Beryl  was  ordered  out  of  the  house  again. 
He  left  and  went  back  to  the  theatre.  The  interview 
took  only  a  few  minutes." 


306  The  Red  Window 

'-  But  the  nmrdor  ?  " 

*'  1  eoinmitted  it,"  said  Mrs.  Gilroy,  simply. 

Durham  and  the  clerk  both  jumped  and  stared. 

"You?"  said  the  lawyer. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Gilroy,  coolly.  "  You  have  been 
on  tlie  wrong  tack  all  along.  You  thought  that  Ber- 
nard killed  Sir  Simon — that  my  son  did  so — that  Tolo- 
meo  did  so — that  Beryl  was  guilty.  But  you  were  all 
wrong.     I,  and  none  other,  killed  Sir  Simon." 

"  You  say  this  to  save  your  son  ? " 

"  No.  Tolomeo  can  prove  that  Sir  Simon  was  alive 
when  ]\iichael  fled  from  the  house.  Beryl  can  prove 
that  I  w^as  alone  with  Sir  Simon.  I  was  late — the  ser- 
vants were  in  bed.    I  determined  to  kill  the  old  man." 

"  Why,  in  Heaven's  name  ?  " 

"  Because  I  saw  that  when  Bernard  came  he  would 
be  arrested,  and  there  would  be  a  chance  for  my  son 
getting  the  money.  Then  Sir  Simon  intended  to  have 
Michael  arrested — I  washed  to  stop  that.  Then,  again, 
for  years  Sir  Simon  had  insulted  and  humiliated  me. 
I  liated  him  fervently.  Oh,  I  had  plenty  of  reasons  to 
kill  the  old  brute.  I  went  downstairs  and  got  the  chlo- 
roform." 

"  Had  you  that  ready  ?  "  asked  Durham,  horrified  at 
this  recital. 

''  Yes  and  no.  I  didn't  buy  it  then.  I  always 
thought  that  Sir  Simon  kept  his  will  at  the  Hall,  and 
I  bought  the  chloroform  months  before,  hoping  one 
night  to  make  him  insensible,  so  that  I  could  look  at 
the  will.  But  the  chloroform  was  not  wasted,"  said 
Mrs.  Gilroy,  with  a  pale  smile.  "  I  brought  it  with  me 
to  town — always  ready  to  watch  for  my  chance  of  ren- 
dering my  master  insensible  and  of  reading  the  will. 
I  wanted  to  see  if  he  left  Michael  anything,  and  if  he 


The  Truth  307 


had  really  left  me  the  five  hundred  he  promised.  Be- 
sides, in  his  death,  I  saw  a  chance  of  getting  rid  of 
Bernard  by  hanging,  and  of  having  my  son  acknowl- 
edged as  the  heir." 

"  But  Beryl?    You  reckoned  without  Beryl?  " 

"  :N'o,"  said  Mrs.  Gilroy,  calmly.  "  You  forget  the 
handkerchief.  I  took  that  down  with  me,  and  soaked 
it  with  chloroform.  I  guessed  that  the  handkerchief 
would  condemn  Beryl,  should  it  be  necessary  to  accuse 
any  one.  I  did  not  foresee  what  would  happen,"  added 
the  woman,  impatiently.  "  I  only  acted  as  I  saw  things 
then.  I  came  upstairs,  and  while  pretending  to  arrange 
Sir  Simon's  cushions,  I  clapped  the  handkerchief  over 
his  mouth.  He  struggled  for  a  long  time.  It  is  not 
easy  to  chloroform  people,"  said  the  woman,  pensively. 
"  I  thought  they  went  off  at  once,  but  Sir  Simon  was 
some  time  struggling." 

"  Go  on — go  on,"  said  Durham  in  disgust.  "  Get 
this  over." 

Mrs.  Gilroy  laughed  and  drew  her  shawl  tightly 
about  her  spare  figure. 

"  After  he  was  insensible,"  she  continued,  "  T 
strangled  him  with  his  own  handkerchief,  after  tying 
Beryl's  handkerchief  across  his  mouth.  I  then  Avent 
down  and  took  my  work  up  again  while  waiting  for 
Bernard." 

Durham  made  a  gesture  of  abhorrence.  "  You  could 
work? " 

"  Why  not?  "  said  Mrs.  Gilroy.  "  There  was  nothing 
else  to  do — the  old  man  was  dead — the  trap  was  set. 
All  I  had  to  do  was  to  wait  till  Bernard  walked  into  it." 

"  Had  you  no  regrets  for  that? " 

"  None.  Bernard  Gore  robbed  my  boy  of  his  birth- 
right." 


808  The  Red  Window 

"  Bernard  was  the  eldest  son,  even  though  Michael 
had  been  born  in " 

"  I  know  all  about  that,"  said  Mrs.  Gilroy,  waving 
her  hand,  "  sjDare  me  your  preaching.  Is  there  any- 
thing more  you  wish  to  know?  " 

"  About  this  plot  to  get  the  false  will  signed? " 

"  I  knew  little  of  that.  I  accused  Bernard,  and  he 
escaped.  Beryl  guessed  I  murdered  the  old  man,  but 
for  his  own  sake  he  held  his  tongue.  I  heard  Bernard's 
whistle,  or  rather  Jerry's,  and  went  out  crying  murder. 
The  rest  you  know.  Then  I  played  my  part.  I  left  the 
diary  at  the  Hall  for  Miss  Randolph  to  find,  as  I 
thought  Tolomeo  might  be  accused.  I  fancied,  as 
things  turned  out,  it  would  be  better  to  have  Bernard 
back,  and  get  him  to  do  something  for  Michael.  That 
was  why  I  prepared  the  diary." 

"  It  was  a  false  entry?  "  said  Durham,  looking  at  her. 

Mrs.  Gilroy  yawned.  "  Yes,  it  was.  I  prepared  it, 
as  I  say.  I  am  getting  very  tired,"  she  added.  "  Let 
me  sign  the  paper  and  go." 

"  You  must  sign  the  paper,  and  you  must  be 
arrested,"  said  Durham. 

"  As  you  please,"  said  Mrs.  Gilroy,  perfectly  calmly. 
Then  Durham  sent  for  Inspector  Groom,  and,  pending 
his  arrival,  Mrs.  Gilroy  signed  the  paper,  with  Durham 
and  the  clerk  as  witnesses.  She  then  fell  asleep,  and 
Durham  went  out  to  receive  Groom.  They  talked  to- 
gether for  some  time,  then  entered  the  room.  Mrs. 
Gilroy  was  lying  on  the  floor  in  convulsions,  and 
laughed  when  she  saw  them. 

"  Good  Heavens!  "  cried  Groom.  "  She  has  pois- 
oned herself!  " 

"  I  have  taken  drows,"  gasped  Mrs.  Gilroy. 
"  That's  my  dukkerin!  "  and  died  hard. 


CHAPTER  XXin 


A   YEAR   LATER 


It  was  midsummer,  and  Miss  Berengaria's  garden 
was  a  sight.  Such  splendid  colors,  such  magnificent 
blossoms,  such  triumphs  of  the  floricultural  art,  had 
never  been  seen  outside  the  walls  of  a  flower  show. 
The  weather  was  exceedingly  warm,  and  on  this  par- 
ticular dav  there  was  not  a  cloud  in  the  sky.  Miss 
Plantagenet  pottered  about  her  garden,  clipping  and 
arranging  as  usual,  and  seemed  to  be  in  the  very  beat 
of  spirits.  And  well  she  might  be,  for  this  was  a  red- 
letter  day  with  her. 

Under  the  shade  of  a  large  elm-tree  sat  Durham,  in 
the  most  unprofessional  tweed  suit,  and  beside  him, 
Alice,  radiant  in  a  white  dress.  She  looked  particularly 
pretty,  and  her  face  was  a  most  becoming  color.  Every 
now  and  then  she  would  glance  at  the  watch  on  her 
wrist,  and  Durham  laughed  as  he  saw  how  frequently 
she  referred  to  it. 

"  The  train  won't  be  here  for  another  hour,"  he  said, 
smiling.  "  You  ^\dll  see  Bernard  soon  enough.  Miss 
Malleson." 

''  Oh,  dear  me,"  sighed  Alice,  "  can  I  ever  see  him 
soon  enough?  It  seems  like  eleven  years  instead  of 
eleven  months  since  he  went  away.  I  vnsh  he  hadn't 
gone." 

"  Well,"  said  Durham,  following  with  his  eyes  the 
spare  little  figure  of  Miss  Berengaria  flitting  about 


310  The  Red  Window 

amongst  the  flowers,  "  I  didn't  approve  of  it  at  the 
time,  and  I  told  Conniston  so.  But  now  I  think  it  was 
just  as  well  Bernard  did  keep  to  his  original  intention 
and  go  to  the  Front.  It  is  advisable  there  should  be  an 
interval  between  the  new  life  and  the  old." 

"  The  new  life?  "  asked  Alice,  flushing, 

"  He  is  coming  home  to  be  married  to  you,"  said 
Durham. 

"  And  with  a  bullet  in  his  arm,"  sighed  Alice.  "  I 
shall  have  to  nurse  him  back  to  health  before  we  can 
marry." 

"  Miss  Randolph  will  be  occupied  in  the  same  pleas- 
ing task  with  Conniston,"  replied  Durham,  lazily,  "  and 
I  envy  both  my  friends." 

"  You  needn't,"  laughed  Miss  Malleson,  opening  her 
sunshade  which  cast  a  delicate  pink  hue  on  her  cheeks. 
"  Poor  Bernard  has  been  wounded  and  Lord  Conniston 
has  been  down  with  enteric  fever." 

"  I  am  glad  they  have  got  off  so  easily.  Bernard 
might  have  been  shot,  you  know." 

Alice  shuddered  and  grew  pale.  '*  Don't,  Mr.  Dur- 
ham! " 

"  That  was  why  I  feared  about  his  going  out,"  said 
he.  "  I  thought  it  would  be  a  pity,  after  all  he  passed 
through,  that  he  should  be  killed  by  a  Boer  bullet.  But 
he  has  only  temporarily  lost  the  use  of  his  arm;  he  has 
been  mentioned  for  gallantry  in  the  despatches;  and  he 
is  coming  home  to  marry  the  most  charming  girl  in  the 
world — I  quote  from  his  own  letter,"  finished  Durham, 
smiling. 

"And  Lord  Conniston?" 

''  IIo  is  coming  also  to  marry  Miss  Randolph.  Both 
weddings  will  take  place  on  the  same  day,  and  Connis- 


A   Year  Later  311 


ton  has  escaped  the  dangers  of  the  war  with  a  slight 
touch  of  fever.  But  why  tell  you  all  this — ^you  know  it 
as  well  as  I  do." 

"  What's  that?  "  asked  Miss  Berengaria,  coming  up 
to  the  pair. 

"  I  was  only  discussing  Miss  Malleson's  future  life," 
said  Durham. 

"  Ah,"  sighed  the  old  lady,  sitting  down.  "  What  I 
shall  do  without  her  I  don't  know." 

"  Dear  aunt,"  said  Alice,  kissing  the  faded  cheek,  "  I 
shall  not  be  far  away.  The  Hall  is  within  visiting  dis- 
tance." 

"  That's  all  very  well,"  said  Miss  Berengaria.  "  But 
Bernard  will  want  you  all  to  himself,  and  small  blame 
to  him.    What  is  the  time?  " 

Alice  glanced  at  her  watch.  "  It's  nearly  three,  and 
the  train  arrives  at  half-past,"  she  said.  "  Oh,  I  wish 
we  could  meet  them." 

"  ISTot  at  all,"  rejoined  Miss  Berengaria,  brusquely, 
"  better  wait  here  with  Lucy.  She  will  be  over  soon. 
I  don't  want  a  scene  of  kissing  and  weeping  on  the 
platform.  But,  I  must  say,  I  am  glad  both  those  boys 
are  back." 

"  You  will  have  them  as  near  neighbors.  Miss  Beren- 
garia," said  the  lawyer.  "  Bernard  at  Gore  Hall  and 
Conniston  at  the  castle." 

"  I  hope  he  and  Lucy  won't  live  there,"  said  the  old 
lady,  rubbing  her  nose.  "  A  dreadfully  damp  place.  I 
went  over  there  the  other  day  to  tell  Mrs  Moon  about 
Jerry." 

"  Have  you  had  good  reports  of  him?  " 

"  So,  so.  The  rcforniatory  he  was  put  into  seems  to 
be  a  good  one,  and  the  boys  are  well  looked  after.    But 


812  The  Red  Window 

Jerry  is  a  tree  which  will  grow  crooked.  He  seems  to 
have  been  giving  a  lot  of  trouble." 

"  Yet  he  was  lucky  to  get  off  as  he  did,"  said  Dur- 
ham, "  The  judge  might  have  sent  him  to  jail  instead 
of  into  a  reformatory." 

"  And  he'll  land  in  jail  some  day,"  said  Alice,  shak- 
ing her  head.     "  At  least,  Bernard  seems  to  think  so." 

"  I  fancy  Bernard  is  about  right,"  replied  Durham. 
"  The  lad  is  a  born  criminal.  I  wonder  how  he  in- 
herited such  a  tainted  nature." 

Miss  Berengaria  sat  up  briskly.  "  I  can  tell  you," 
she  said.  "  Mrs.  Moon  informed  me  that  her  son — 
Jerry's  father — was  a  desperate  scamp,  and  also  that 
several  of  her  husband's  people  had  come  to  bad  ends." 

"  To  rope  ends,  I  suppose,  as  Jerry  will  come,"  said 
Durham.  "  However,  he  is  safe  for  the  next  three 
years  in  his  reformatory.  When  he  comes  out,  we  will 
see  what  wall  happen.  What  about  your  other  jprotege^ 
Miss  Berengaria." 

"  Michael  Gilroy?  " 

"  Yes.    Has  he  taken  that  name  for  good?  " 

'*  He  has.  It's  the  only  name  he  is  entitled  to.  How 
glad  I  am  that  the  poor  creature  was  acquitted  after 
that  dreadful  trial.     I  am  sure  there  is  good  in  him." 

"  So  Bernard  thought,  and  that  was  why  he  assisted 
him,"  said  Alice. 

"  I  think  you  put  in  a  good  word  for  him,  Miss  Mal- 
leson." 

Alice  assented.  "  I  was  sorry  for  the  poor  fellow. 
Y/hile  I  nursed  him  I  saw  much  good  in  him.  And, 
remember,  that  he  had  intended  to  tell  me  who  he  was 
when  he  arrived,  only  he  was  so  ill." 

"  And  when  he  saw  that  you  fancied  he  was  Ber- 


A   Year  Later  313 


nard,  he  accepted  the  situation,"  said  Durham,  ironi- 
cally. "  I  wonder  he  could  have  thought  you  so  easily 
taken  in,  knowing  that  you  knew  Bernard  so  inti- 
mately." 

"  Well,  I  don't  think  he  was  quite  himself  during 
that  illness,"  said  Alice,  pensively.  "  Had  he  been 
better,  he  would  certainly  have  doubted  the  fact  of 
aunty's  and  my  beliefs.  A  few  questions  from  me, 
and  he  would  have  been  exposed,  even  had  I  truly  be- 
lieved he  was  Bernard." 

"  And  he  must  have  wondered  how  you  never  put 
the  questions." 

"  Perhaps.  But  he  thought  I  was  considering  his 
health.  However,  he  spoke  up  well  at  the  trial,  and 
quite  explained  Bernard's  innocence." 

Durham  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  The  serpent  in 
the  bamboo.  He  was  forced  to  be  honest  at  the  trial 
for  his  own  sake." 

"  Don't  be  hard  on  him,"  said  Miss  Berengaria,  sud- 
denly. "  I  received  a  letter  from  him  yesterday.  He 
is  doing  very  well  in  America,  and  with  the  money 
Bernard  gave  him  he  has  bought  a  farm.  Also,  he 
hopes  to  marry." 

"  I  wonder  will  he  tell  his  future  wife  anything  of 
his  past  life." 

"  Not  if  he  is  wise,"  said  Durham,  looking  at  Alice, 
who  had  spoken.  "  By  the  way,  Miss  Berengaria,  does 
he  mention  his  mother?  " 

"  No,"  replied  the  old  lady,  promptly.  "  Drat  you, 
Durham!  why  should  the  boy  mention  his  mother  at 
this  point?  She  has  been  dead  all  these  months.  Poor 
soul!  her  end  was  a  sad  one.  I  never  heard,  though,  of 
what  poison  she  died." 


314  The  Red  Window 

"  A  Romany  poison  they  call  drows,"  explained  Dur- 
ham, quickly.     "  The  gipsies  use  it  to  poison  pigs." 

"  Why  do  they  wish  to  poison  pigs?  " 

"  Because,  if  they  kill  a  pig  in  that  way,  the  farmer 
to  whom  it  belongs,  thinking  the  animal  has  died  a 
natural  death,  gives  it  to  the  gipsies  and  they  eat  it." 

"Ugh!"  Miss  Berengaria  shuddered.  "I'll  look 
well  after  my  own  pigs.  So  the  poor  creature  killed 
herself  with  that  drug?  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  it  is  a  drug,"  said  Durham.  "  I 
can't  explain  what  it  is.  She  hinted  that  I  would  know 
what  drows  meant  before  the  end  of  the  day,  and  I  did. 
While  I  was  telling  Inspector  Groom  about  her  con- 
fession, she  poisoned  herself  in  my  office.  I  thought 
she  was  asleep,  but  she  evidently  w^as  watching  for  her 
opportunity  to  make  away  with  herself." 

"  Ugh !  "  said  Miss  Berengaria,  again.  "  I  wonder 
you  can  bear  to  sit  in  that  oifice  after  such  an  occur- 


rence." 


"  How  lucky  it  was  that  she  signed  that  confession 
before  she  died,"  was  the  remark  made  by  Alice. 

"  My  dear  young  lady,  she  came  especially  to  con- 
fess, so  as  to  save  her  son.  She  would  not  have  died 
until  she  did  confess." 

"  And  if  she  had  not  suffered  from  that  incurable 
disease,  I  doubt  if  she  would  have  committed  suicide," 
said  Miss  Plantagenet. 

"  Oh,  I  think  so,"  said  Durham,  reflectively. 
"  After  all,  her  confession  meant  hanging  to  her.  She 
wished  to  escape  the  gallows." 

"  I  am  glad  Bernard  did,"  said  Miss  Berengaria,  em- 
phatically; "  even  at  the  risk  of  all  that  scandal." 

"  It  couldn't  be  kept  out  of  the  papers,"  said  Dur- 


A   Year  Later  315 


ham,  with  a  shrug.  "  After  all,  Bernard's  character 
had  to  be  fully  cleansed.  It  was  therefore  necessary 
to  tell  the  whole  of  Beryl's  plot,  to  produce  Michael  as 
an  example  of  what  Mature  can  do  in  the  way  of 
resemblances,  and  to  supplement  the  whole  with  Mrs. 
Gilroy's  confession." 

''  And  a  nice  trouble  there  was  over  it,"  said  the  old 
lady,  annoyed.  "  I  believe  Bernard  had  a  man  calling 
on  him  who  wished  to  write  a  play  about  the  affair — 
a  new  kind  of  '  Corsican  Brothers.'  " 

"  Or  a  new  '  Comedy  of  Errors,'  "  said  Alice,  smil- 
ing. "  Well,  the  public  learned  everything  and  were 
sorry  for  Bernard.  They  cheered  him  when  he  left  the 
court." 

"  And  would  have  been  quite  as  ready  to  hiss  him 
had  things  turned  out  otherwise,"  snapped  Miss  Beren- 
garia.  "  The  man  who  should  have  suffered  was  that 
wretch  Beryl." 

"  We  couldn't  catch  him,"  said  Durham.  "  Victoria 
reached  him  on  that  very  night,  and  he  cleared  without 
loss  of  time.  Of  course,  he  was  afraid  of  being  accused 
of  the  crime,  although  he  knew  he  was  innocent,  but, 
besides  that,  there  was  the  conspiracy  to  get  the  estate 
by  means  of  the  false  -udll.  By  the  way,  did  Mrs.  Moon 
say  what  had  become  of  Victoria?  " 

Miss  Berengaria  nodded.  "  Victoria  is  down  in 
Devonshire  with  an  aunt,  and  is  being  kept  hard  at 
work  to  take  the  bad  out  of  her.  I  understand  she  still 
believes  in  Jerry  and  will  marry  him  when  he  comes 
out  of  the  reformatory.  He  will  then  be  of  a  marriage- 
able age,  the  brat!  But,  regarding  Beryl,  what  became 
of  him  ?  " 

"  I  never  could  find  out,"  confessed  Durham. 


316  The  Red  Window 

"  Then  I  can  tell  you,  Durham.  Michael  saw  him 
in  ISI"ew  York." 

"Where?" 

"  In  some  low  slum,  very  ragged  and  poor.  He 
didn't  see  Michael,  or  he  might  have  troubled  him. 
He  has  taken  to  drink,  I  believe — Beryl  I  mean — so 
some  day  he  will  die,  and  a  nice  fate  awaits  him  where 
he  will  go,"  said  Miss  Berengaria,  grimly. 

Durham  rose  and  removed  his  straw  hat.  "  Well," 
said  he,  looking  down  on  the  two  ladies,  "  the  whole 
case  is  over  and  ended.  I  don't  see  why  we  should  re- 
vive such  very  unpleasant  memories.  The  past  is  past, 
so  let  it  rest.  Bernard  has  the  title  and  the  money 
and " 

"  Here's  Lucy,"  said  Alice,  rising.  "  Dear  girl,  how 
sweet  she  looks!  " 

It  was  indeed  Lucy  tripping  across  the  lawn  in  the 
lightest  of  summer  frocks.  She  looked  charming,  and 
greeted  Alice  with  a  kiss.  "  I  am  so  anxious,"  she 
whispered.     "  The  train  will  be  in  soon." 

"  You  are  anxious  to  see  Conniston? "  said  Miss 
Berengaria. 

"  Yes.  And  I  am  also  anxious  to  hand  the  Hall 
over  to  Bernard.  I  have  had  a  lot  of  trouble  looking 
after  it.     Haven't  I,  Mr.  Durham?  " 

Durham  bowed.  "  You  have  been  an  admirable 
Lady  of  the  Manor,"  he  said.  "  But  soon  you  will  be 
Lady  Conniston." 

"  And  Alice  will  be  Lady  of  the  Manor,"  laughed 
Lucy.  "  Oh,  by  the  way,  Mr.  Durham,  I  forgot  to  tell 
you  that  Signor  Tolomeo  called  at  the  Hall  yesterday. 
He  thouglil  Boi-naru  was  back,  and  came  to  thank 
him  for  hisj  allowing  him  an  income." 


A   Yea7'  Later  317 


"  I  thought  he  had  gone  back  to  Italy,"  said  Dur- 
ham. 

"  He  is  going  next  week,  and  talks  of  marriage." 

"  I  don't  envy  his  wdfe,"  said  Miss  Berengaria,  ris- 
ing. "  Girls,  come  into  the  house  to  see  that  every- 
thing is  prepared  for  our  heroes." 

The  girls  laughed  and  tripped  away.  Durham  left 
the  garden  and  drove  to  the  station  to  fetch  back  Con- 
niston  and  Bernard.  They  did  not  come  by  that  train, 
however,  much  to  the  disappointment  of  those  at  the 
Bower.  It  was  seven  before  they  arrived,  and  then  the 
three  ladies  came  out  to  meet  them  on  the  lawn. 

"  Dear  Alice,"  said  Bernard,  who  had  his  arm  in  a 
sling,  but'  otherwise  looked  what  Conniston  called 
"  fit!  "  "  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you!  " 

"  And  you,  Lucy,"  said  Conniston,  taking  his  sweet- 
heart in  his  arms. 

"  Really,"  cried  Miss  Berengaria,  while  Durham 
stood  by  laughing,  "  it  is  most  perplexing  to  assist  at 
the  meeting  of  a  quartette  of  lovers.  Gore,  how  are 
you?  Conniston,  your  fever  has  pulled  you  down.  I 
hope  you  have  both  sown  your  wild  oats  and  have  come 
back  to  settle  for  good." 

"  With  the  most  charming  of  wives,"  said  Dick,  bow- 
ing.    "  We  have." 

Miss  Berengaria  took  Durham's  arm.  "  I  must  look 
out  a  wife  for  you,  sir,"  she  said,  leading  him  to  the 
house.  "  Come  away  and  let  the  turtle-doves  coo 
alone.    I  expect  dinner  will  be  late." 

And  dinner  was  late.  Conniston,  with  Lucy  on  his 
arm,  strolled  away  in  the  t'udlight,  but  Bernard  and 
Alice  remained  under  the  elm.     When  it  grew  quite 


318  Tlie  Red  Window 

dusk  a  red  light  was  seen  shining  from  the  window  of 
the  drawing-room.     Gore  pointed  it  out. 

"  That  is  the  signal  Lucy  used  to  set  in  the  window 
at  the  Hall  to  show  that  all  was  well,"  he  said,  putting 
his  unwounded  arm  round  the  girl,  "  and  now  it  gleams 
as  a  sign  that  there  is  a  happy  future  for  you  and  ■,  #t^ 
dearest." 

"  A  red  light  is  a  danger  signal,"  said  Alice,  laughing. 

"  This  is  the  exception  that  proves  the  rule,"  said 
Gore.  "  It  once  led  me  into  trouble,  but  now  it  shines 
upon  me  with  my  arms  around  you.  Thank  Heaven 
that,  after  all  our  trouble^  we  are  at  last  in  smooth 
waters.    There's  the  gong  for  dinner." 

Alice  laughed.  "  A  prosaic  ending  to  a  pretty 
speech,"  she  said. 


THE   END 


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